Shedding light upon the distracting,
I’ve got galaxy-eyes and they color space.
(Gobos, gels, filters)
I’m swanning about it.
What’s the right word?
What is it ever?
Translate a game of musical chairs but switch out the chairs with all of the wrong words and push “play”.
It’s for the way you, cranberry.
“O” is for the zone layer and also for the, uh apple and my ice.
It’s also, “… very very extraordinary.”
Even more than anyone ever could…who has two thumbs and is also a dove?
I’m sorry, where did I leave off? I’m distracted by celebrity look a likes and various other people who look familiar but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
I also can’t find my glasses but that hasn’t stopped me from seeing precisely what I’ve failed to say.
Failed to say directly, anyway. You see “tomato”, I see “tomahh-toe” and so on and so forth and whatever.
You’ve given me this 6th sensation.
“I’d rather be hospitalized.”
Wise words that remind me to look both ways before I cross the street.
It’s either that I’ve got the power or that someone else does and it’s leaking all over me.
I’m talking about this, and I’m talking about that and this and that and whatever but it’s embarrassing how often all I really want to talk about involves irritating dragon cat sounds and run on sentences and early bed times and four letter words.
Tummy troubles in paradise.
Cross country crustacea, snap hands and earaches.
Cookie crumbs and ice cream.
Hot sauce on my nose and eyelashes and all I can think about is blue.
It’s cyan, it’s magenta, it’s yellow, it’s black. It’s blue.
It’s the printing press, put a grommet on it.
Laminate it. Melt wax. Stick lips, seal it with a kiss.
Just don’t call me, “Late for Dinner”
Your fingers trace like the wind.
Lightening lights up your silhouette, ‘cause it’s electric.
Passive verbs and generic words, and so on, and so forth.
“You want to take a picture?”
Excuse me? I’m deaf right now.
“You want to take a picture?” “Take a picture.”
‘Boomer has it’ that our souls are collectively worth 17.8 Megabytes.
So keep your ears peeled and misinterpret lyrics and play drunk charades, because it, ‘sounds like’.
Trying to be transparent in the sense that I am wondering if any of this is clear?
“I feel like I’m breathing through my eyes,” might be something you’d say if you force feed yourself to a radioactive spider.
Whatever. There’s more, I just might as well gag myself while I’m ahead.
If I spent a few concentrated moments throughout the day perfecting my ability to break apart the exterior of a walnut without blinding my audience, does that make me the nutcase?
I’ll have you know, by midnight it was perfect.
Speaking in circles, diamond circles. The kind of circles that were once square, before their corners were cut.
The kind of diamond in the rough that was just a shape, chopped up and made into a second, much less pointed shape. Not as sharp, or uh, quick-witted.
Diamonds are forever, especially when they spin stale webs and chase their own tail. Not exactly a “sticky” situation, or is it?
In conclusion, diamonds are a girl’s best friend and who are you to tell me otherwise?