Flights Of Imagination Poem by Brian Arguello

They scatter allusively then gather once more in a flock.
Lady Fortune's wheel spins and spins;
She scoffs and mocks and grins.
Fate is dead.
Twirls her ribbon, bloody red overhead like a lasso.
Running
Running
And the light has yet to catch us.
Running
Find the shadows where we can laugh.
Find the mouth of a mine shaft where psych's learn because fantasy sweetly ferments.
Then it churns.
Like knocking back a glass of ‘what's it called'
That burns the good burn and warms the belly.
Drop down, stop, shock, turn the brain to jelly.
Where we can laugh to catch a breath and leave off sighing.
To be abysmal, not stern.
Calm with life.
Running
Where we can laugh
Burning chaff
Where the light has yet to catch us.