No Idea


"I have no idea," I said.

With no clue, whatsoever,

In my head.

Could just as well been dead.


Flatlined, white noise, erased.

Ideas gone without a trace.

Lost that common trait,

Of the human race--imagination. 


No synapses firing,

In my brain.

No ideas falling out,

Like sweet rain.

No mammon from on high,

Falling gently from the sky.


The ideology of the idea is such,

That it must be truly unique.

Thoughts that address a problem,

Are no natural freak.


But the reordering of a disordered mind.

In double time,

In a dream.

Can make it all seem right.


But, then you wake up,

And the dream is lost.

Still, no idea,

But at what cost?


Start over.

Copyright 1999 (c) Ronald W. Hull 



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