Pop-Up Poem by Zyw Zywa
Pop-Up
The train driver is startled, and I
am not myself, my thumb
presses upon the rails
It's one of the trillions
of temporary states
of my consciousness
in which everything is allowed
and possible, in the childhood
of the universe
No you or me
how real is that?
A green door
is just art, made
from a piece of tree, exhibited
in pop-up museum earth
Friday, April 29, 2022
Topic(s) of this poem: fantasy,game
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Collection 'The light of words'
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7/31/2025 7:30:32 PM # 1.0.0
