Paper Mache Hats

-Paper Mache Hats- by Keaton Foster

This head,
Oh, the brain
It contains
Such a wondrous world
Between these two ears.

Imagination always on fire,
Burning down a forest
Of stick figures that have
Long since relented all
Expendable fuel.

What a terrifying place
Of epic creatures
And relentless bastards
That force my hands and
My maladjusted mind.

In this head is a
Toxic stew of chemicals
That is way out of balance.
Those closest to me
Try to distance themselves,
Those far away are intrigued.

They shout and scream,
Mystify us with the absurd,
Show us the depths of our kind
As long as when we wish
We can easily turn away.

To their needs I cater,
I have no choice,
Not one that I can see.
It is the will of my mind,
It will not be refused.

I slave, I ponder,
I wonder, then I consider,
I jam all my thoughts into a blender,
I pour in water and glue,
Darkness and truth.

I place it on the highest of settings,
Swirling around my thoughts go,
Obliteration that is about to be
Turned into creation,
Such a masterful contradiction.

Once the motor stops,
When the machine cannot take anymore,
Then it is time for me to begin.
Carefully I craft the slop and slew
Into reality and absolutes.

The physical representation
Of an idea ready to be expressed,
In the form of a paper mache hat
That I wear as I slave away.

Writing, expressing,
Feeling each emotion,
Laying it all out,
Holding nothing close,
Freedom for an idea.

As soon as I am done,
As soon as the words
Have all been unhinged,
And the meaning of what it is
I am trying to say has been expressed,
Then I take off the paper mache hat.

Never again will I wear
That particular hat.
I place it on a shelf with
So many hundreds of others
That I am sure will always remain…




-Paper Mache Hats- Written by Keaton Foster
Copyright © 2012