“I suppose they will be wanting the good chariot, then?”
“Well, they certainly don’t want the bad chariot.”
“…Christ, Bob, is this going to be the rest of my life?”
“Christ?”
Do we need more Roman Comedies? Or are we satisfied with Greek tragedies? Lost for lack of love and torn between the moon and the sun.
If ever there was a was we could create the buzz buzz HITCH EEE KAA.
lambs lambs lambs. Between the smoke and the dip it feels like someone’s losing their grip. I’ve felt that before the way my hand starts to slip. I have the light of the moon — I have the light of the moon.
It’s like a riptide created by the sand and the salt and the elite. It will suck all of us out to sea. Can we swim parallel to the shore? Or or ore; do we lose ourselves wanting more? Will we drown as we struggle on our way back to land? It would be nice just to breath. But now what does that mean?
Could we simply float out to sea and see where it is we’ll end up or be? This is easier, but do you really want to live without controls?
Questions keep coming while we try to rip open doors. The cat is in the garage. The dog is on the roof. The waters crashing in and it’s unclear what will happen next.
It only takes a little to get you off your feet.
I find myself inhaling,
when it’s only ankle deep.
I’ll walk into the backyard and try to get some sleep. It’s nothing personal, it’s just my mind is pink. Its name is Batter Batter and there’s no where else to go.
Before the rags are used let’s make sure no one is confused: this is the fastest hummingbird I’ve seen in quite a while.
Every word rhymes with every other word.
The word explore rhymes with the word cathedral. And the word thicket rhymes with the word artichoke. And every word in those sentences rhyme with every word in this sentence. Karate and marshmallow. Windows and grass. Corduroy and banana. This is the language.
Spoken or written or whispered or
blinked or farted or belched or
tapped or gestured or
screamed;
this is the language and this is how it all works.
A molecule of thought weighs about as much as a geometry textbook. It’s math. A lot of people will say it’s physics, but physics is just science for, “math.” So, if you speak a bit of science you may have already known that. It’s nice to be bilingual and not afraid of lions in the cul-de-sac.
We’re flying and we’re lost.
We fly ships made of rage and sorrow and bubblegum. Pink elastic sails carry us through the cosmos. Or can we steer?
Are we at the mercy of solar winds and solar flares?
That star in the distance that we’re headed towards… it doesn’t look like it’s getting any closer, but that’s where we’re going.
That’s where we’re headed at least.
Are we pushing that way or is it pulling us in on a long transparent rope?
Lemmen's Nursery 