In My Seventeenth Lifetime

—Len Anderson
 
At the playgrounds there were slides with antigravity machines, so we could go up and down as long as we liked.
 
Dreams were no longer made in factories but sprang out of the ground unannounced or were sung by birds as they built nests in our hair.
 
A permanent rose was hung in the sky and doors were shaped like lips.  When we came home from a hard day, a giant tongue licked us clean.
 
All the theorems for God were found to contain tiny flaws in their springs wound so tight they snapped on cold days. 
 
The cage built around God collapsed and was disassembled and carried off by ants come all the way from Madagascar.
 
God uncurled, this must have taken centuries, kept on uncurling, stretching and waking.
 
I invented a trombone played by the wind.  The wind took a liking to it and ordered so many, the cops came and shut the factory down.
 
When I was 104, I went to the playground, started sliding upward, and it seemed like I just kept on going.

One thought on “In My Seventeenth Lifetime

  1. Amazing! I just loved how the imagery got more and more bizarre as I read on. Did you create this poem using Mad Libs? It’s completely nuts, yet emotionally it makes sense.

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