Ranter

My mind is a ranter
A daydreamer, a fantasizer
A story teller that yearns to dream
Equally by day as by night
It sees a pipe, it wants to crawl through it
It sees a column, it figures to climb it
With grabs, if it's thin,
With suction cups or ice picks, if thick,
And it believes itself David Belle
As it jumps and bounces and breaks through tiny windows in like a missile
Then grabs tree branches and escapes on them
Like an anime ninja.

It thrives on perception
If I allow it to
And oh, on conversation,
It can imagine quite a bit.

It projects on the branches
of possibilities
It swings on them like a monkey
That's high on caffeine.
And it's only more so,
If it's actually high on caffeine.

It rants in conversation
Inside of me, itself,
It clones my contacts
assigns them roles
for impromptu dramas
and wishful dialogues
in my relatively tame life.

It bestows on me courage and elocution
them, interest and frankness,
the world, a new center around my mind,
as it somehow splices my life's loose ends.
It becomes the virtuous hero,
the broken-open lamenter,
the astute, omniscient seer,
the pure, open individual.

Opinions reserved, muffled attractions,
unacted intentions, my mind develops them all
in its fluid, private dark room.