So apparently
there is
something
in my brain
that gets activated
by Poetry
I cannot describe it
I just have a sense about it.
 
Maybe some kind of
linguistic Silly Putty
stretches and twists into
a Mobius strip inviting
travel into the
upside down world?
Is it possible time portals
have pulled me off
course now and then?
Psychic trances?
Dreamscape connections?
What if there’s a poetic virus
and there’s no cure?
I wonder about these things.
It’s a lot to consider
But maybe
the truth has to be
more simple and
not processed via
a complicated matrix  

I can see that certain conditions
activate the poetry alert system,
But in the end, it really is only a simple matter of waking up.  
I think I am comfortable
just calling that “something in my brain”
the waking of a hibernating bear.
That seems to really fit.  

I see no counter argument
to this idea.
And to put it correctly,
you might say
within each of us
is a Hibernating Poet Bear.  

I will call mine Renee. Sometimes she comes out of her cave,
flailing her arms and showing claws, her body lumbering along
as she accelerates into a full sprint.  

When she hits a place hard, she digs deep, whether desert,
jungle, closet, car or the aisles of Home Depot. She is
simultaneously spewing words and phrases, colons and semi-colons
—letting them fall where they may—or even suspend mid air
for days until needed, playing hop-scotch on the time-space continuum.  

The Poet Bear may show extreme care at times,
even a nurturing spirit. Emotions may determine
every choice or  psychological wrestling stance.
If it pleases her, she might destroy everything,
with no explanation.
Hot or cold, the awakened Poet Bear is still an animal
from knolling master to blood letting killer,
You never know what you’re gonna get.