Calling on old acquaintances to follow me to bed
In the storm of sleep I toss hoodlums off jagged cliffs and
with giant scissors trim the rainbow from the sky
Upon waking unclenching my crooked jaws and catching my reflection in the closets warped mirror I glimpse my dead brother sitting on the throne of elimination. He's smiling at something off in the distance beyond my shoulder mouthing the word "yes".
Turning over to face away from what's calling me I see rather large coconuts swinging in the tree and remember the spider on the ceiling at dance crawling over a crowd of sweaty bodies spinning webs too high to reach
At dinner drinks and fish circle the table along with conversations of growing old and the tattooed clock calls me back to bed