Mouse The Chime Clock Poem by Felix Bongjoh

Mouse The Chime Clock
(i)

A hollow of night
engulfs me.

And flips me
onto a desert island,
no flower, no bird.

From a seafoam hedge,
I grow to my edge,
a bumble bee cloud
on a pier.

As night blows out
into a storm
of stars and singing

zephyr playing
a piano
through tree leaves,

I swing few tools
without teeth,

as I've been
drowning
in splashes of moon

and cream
pools of light
all early dawn,

as I woke up
to plough
ridges on the round
daisy and cream
sailing ball

and mulch
its silver feathers
and rays for a poem.

(ii)

I could grab
a poem's tail,
but not
its cloud-covered head,

as the shadowy
animal
tossed a hoe
and rake at me

to break down
moon's earth
into the soft gravel

and thick clay
that grows
rainbow wings

to craft
and carve out
a rainbow rose
sprouting with

albatross wings
cruising with me
to the river
of a flowing poem.

(iii)

By the river's
moss and emerald
banks of grass
and flowering trees,

I crashed
into the deep snore
and rumble

of sleep
that swallowed me
into a world
with no ears.

Until a mouse
in the living room,
crept up
my thighs,

as the clock chimed
to flash a mirror
sculpting out

the head
of the mouse

that breathed out
my poem
on a melting

moon, a cream
stone O grindstone,
you grind

and sift
feathers
on my quill's nib
into this poem.