Today's poem might be a good one if your coronavirus quarantine is beginning to feel long and dull and mind-numbing. It probably needs an additional illustration...
Thinking Wrinkles
I saw a picture of my brain today—
a wet, gray helmet
of wrinkles and folds,
a squish of soft tissue
caught on a background of black.
Now I’m lying in bed, working my way
in and out, over and under,
through the tunnels and
canyons and fissures
that squiggle and squirm in my skull,
And I wonder how something so gray,
so hidden and still,
so ugly and dull,
will dance with the rowdy scarlet sparkle
of all my dreams tonight.
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