Thursday, December 26, 2019

Der Luftballon (Paul Klee), Sonnet #491

My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase. Click here:
My Human Disguise.














If you don’t know your ego, don’t ask it,
“Who are you really, a hot air balloon
Carrying me aloft in a basket?”
Its likely response? “Don’t be a buffoon.” 
We must accept what is most obvious,
That we are all we are, are all there is.
That town or field below are chimeras
And Aldebaran is oblivious.
We (what are we?) float, afflatuses
Incapable of nothing, kings of all,
Until our fear of ourselves deflates us.
Gasping, flailing, we wither of air and fall.
Courage! Ride the currents above the clouds,
Those infinitely reproducing crowds.