this brain's equipped
with salt and vinegar
flavored memory chips.
where the hammer
pounds that fickle tyrant:
unconscious mind.
i'd rather be where
fact slips into fiction
or doubles back,
a bus ride to paradise
with a lifetime carried
in a paper bag.
flying with the snails,
casting daisies to the devil.
tracing the dimples
of venus with my tongue
before the last black sand
trickles through the glass.
come with me,
with drums and butterflies.
take off your pants.
we'll chalk mandalas
on the ceiling, and
fantasies on the floor.
naked as a buckeye
draped with monarchs
a fluttering of black on orange.
or shall we be like crickets
singing to the frogs
who wait patiently to eat them.
No comments:
Post a Comment