On the Matter of the Immaterial – A Figment of Thy Imagination

In thinking about that ghost language we seem to have been engaging in for a while (my previous poem tracked it down to 2020), what came to mind was one of those household ghosts of the quotidian we run into once in a while and mistake them to be part of the material world. This one was particularly pernicious as it turned my own material being into a ghostly presence that had nothing to do with me, but thankfully by April (the month  I think of as the month of poetry) it did dissipate.


A Figment of Thy Imagination


Should I thank Thee

for making me

a figment of Thy imagination

sipping an unknown drink

on an uncherished shore


unburdened by any past

released of the weight

of identity

moved across

the checkerboard

of Thy whimsical mind?


Should I appreciate

having been turned to pigment

in Thy painter’s palette

for those bolder strokes

in imaginary sea -land-sky


escaping, scraping

the surface and the emergent?



Should I have been alarmed

by Thy arrival

in a bottle

buoyed by tempest:

fateful message or jinn?


Since Thou favorst place over time

and showest great consideration

for the predicament of eels

their continual transformation

their belabored voyaging

between sweet waters and sea



may I assume Thee to be under the spell

of the contour-vague chimaeras

shapeshifting in Thy mind

their enchantress’ lack of core?


Or should I chuck it all to poetry

and its twisted sense of justice

and though April be

the cruellest month of all

should I consider sparing

 Thee the Molotov?


3 april 2022


Cover art: A figment of the Imagination, Painting by Tara Baden.