I am a hiccup in some quantum
field where there may or may not
be a dream-threshing tractor.
Imagination can travel
faster than the speed of light.
When you outrun light it is very dark.
These things are obvious.
My interest follows what I cannot see.
Trying to remember where I’ve been
is endlessly entertaining and frustrating.
Perhaps humor is faster than light, as well.
When the absence of light is darkness,
I want balance in the absence of darkness.
I have no name for that place,
but its map glows in my heart.
(tractor: oldoregonphotos.com; dreamscape: rantlifestyle.com)
Narble Furt Lives 
“My interest follows what I cannot see.”
I so relate to that statement, Jim.
I hear you, Andra. Writing this poem was just a scratch on an invisible surface.
Now that steamer would’ve been quite something to keep up mechanically. Dang those boys look like myself and some friends up in Wyoming. 😉 Yea, got a goat and burr with slide mustachio slips down like that boy on the right, there.
I like the way you hit this one: “Perhaps humor is faster than light, as well.”
🙂
I shaved when the hair turned from red to white. After a few years my driver’s license caught up with my face.
Yea, I understand, at 62 mines red and white even now, looks like a red porcupine grizzled over in bad blotches. But it suits me and the Lady says keep it. I guess that’s what matters. 🙂
My lady was never a fan, but she tolerated it. At 64, I still flirt with the notion of growing a ‘stashe back, but it never finds enough traction. I do get tired of scraping my face. My daughter says: “Don’t grow it back. You don’t look a day over fifty-nine.”