The rain does not cool and is a sticky one to the present and the place. Is it a weakness, yours for narcotics? The trees levitate and become mountains. You stand in the water inside a melancholy boulder. Now you're a flying sandwich.
Change in the Grove of Chickadees
Happy for nothing, we could be with no dinner to cook.
Absence is gigantic in our heads and houses.
We’re old and it’s bold to say so standing at the kitchen counter with the flashing red things.
The clock says midnight and we say yes.
When we go out, time always pays.
We spike our heads with copper ions and picnic with the breast explorers.
We’re riding the earth.
Non-motion is impossible.