Drinking a Cloud/Sound of the Sea (freewrite)

Oolong

I am carrying the thud in my solar plexus
(like an unopened package of Oreos)
of a voice, of the sound of a voice
clipping out of view.

I am a little teapot,
I am peas porridge in the pot,
I am the cat inside the hat
and all its referential signifiers.

I am peeled like a grape
though this endless escape
back to the safe soft skin.

I am picking the piece
of a cultural consciousness
between the toothpick and my teeth,

I am hogtied, hornswaggled,
desperately indefinite,
tethered to the infinite,
pawing at the catnip,
wondering where my claws went,

begging for omnipotence
so I can be all things for you:
one, two, three, achoo.

I am gargling my breakfast,
I am stuck in last week’s mess,
I am paralyzed by possibility

that this is
or this is not.

I am ringing the phone to call you,
counting sidewalk squares,
and neon open signs, endless dotted lines,
desperately hoping you won’t answer,
mouth a nest of noise and blur.

I am the power of this thought.
I’m rooted to this spot.
Flip my mind like tiddlywinks.
Tip me over,
and pour me out.