Daydreaming While Staring at My Poetry Shelf

On days like these, of fallen
tulips, of lead skies, I become
like those horses
wild with spring
who long for distant fields.
On days where tasks drag, days of
irksome calls, when Beethoven is brutal
or whispers to lady-like air,
I would board
a bird plane,
and fly near Mecca.
Blue-scratched planners
cascading after me, swirls
of cat hair and clutter.
I'd cast off my tedious
sweatpants, don golden robes,
exchange keyboard for a wand
whose powers are of lava,
of magma, of deep rock strata, of gunpowder,
and the Sun. The better to see
sprawling desert dunes
vast white tundras
swollen brown rivers
bright-bloom fields.
The better to sweep above
a glorious world, declare it all
my moon, my butter calf,
my yellow moth, my Hindu hare.
My senses reeling, I'd throw
my arms wide, thankful
for what I am about to receive.

I am actually quite proud of myself, because I turned down some extra work in order to write this poem. Too often, I let paying jobs take precedence over my creative works, and I need to learn to value the time I've spent writing. These phrases all had a similar quality, I felt, a sense of longing for a more perfect, more magical place. I wrote this poem while watching the opening scenes of "Oliver!" which explains the last two lines ("More? You want some more?").