Half way through summer, and I’m still voting for idleness. I’m painting
on the deck, mostly seascapes, relaxing with a good book and, just
occasionally, staring into space …
ZONED OUT (an Abecedarian)
zapped by contemplation,
yoga’d to the last nirvana,
xanthic in brilliant hue, a place
where I could hibernate for space, 
vetoed out of shape or form
until I come, nice and warm,
to that sublime destination,
supposedly ethereal,
reached by mental expenditure
quintessentially obscure,
potentially unknown
or peacefully imagined,
neither seen nor heard by anyone,
missing from any map,
lost in meditation’s lap,
known to theorists alone,
just as paradox is realized 
in every balanced state,
half seen and half debate,
gleaming in some stranger’s eye,
fickle as a wild sci-fi,
exciting as a race of snails,
delight incipient as I
contemplate my navel, and
blink at last into
a delirious popped zero
first published in Feathertale
Those Blue Shoes for ages 7-11 … Weston’s … skill in juggling time past with time present … the plot unfolds with fast-paced action, mystery, suspense and even a ghost. Joan Givner
