I run with the moon like a crazy bitch
Sweat fills the air. The moon is pulling and we all perspire. The ocean is inside of us, reminding us of the origins of man. Sea dragons and sharks chatter about the olden days and my uterus doesn’t know I live on Land now. Ask the starfish that wish they could twinkle about the exodus. Maybe the wise lobster remembers. Winged friends fly above trying to get a look into the complexity of this hell of a hootenanny. Who can understand? Who cares? Can’t people appreciate a little mystery anymore? Those were the best books. Where we played detective with orphans who lived in abandoned train cars. Questioning things is not so gangster anymore. Go with the trend and follow the marshmallow man into a store of unicorn floaties and grandma jeans on teens. Who cares what we look like as long as we look alike. Then take it to salvos to make room for the next season. Half the mounds in town are made of these fabrics, as the fabric of society flies away on smoke stack clouds to other planets. We are space trash. Trashing space. Taking up too much space. Spaced out, tuned to the frequency of 5G as it destroys humanity. When enough is not enough. I do backflips in my office chair trying to eat my disgust as it belches up into instagram feeds rather than going out with the birds to plant seeds of hope. Mosquito fish guard my door and I hide my face from the screens. Use my hands to pleasure myself and quarantine my creativity. It’s only a dollhouse sanctuary for a full size human, and this is enough. No mosquitos in my inbox. Nobody saying the sea isn’t inside of me. I’m 75% water. Salt is in my blood and I run with the Moon like a crazy bitch at times so don’t tell me I am not made of space and sea. The orchids wink at me and the palm trees bend to my knees. Esperanza is the only option left. Action ran off with conservation and we are all philosophizing about what to do with Mars. Did we even land on the moon? Ooo that is a trepidatious conversation starter! What do I know? I simply breathe salty air and keep my feet dirty in hopes that my finish line comes before the end of human time.
Sweat fills the air. The moon is pulling and we all perspire. The ocean is inside of us, reminding us of the origins of man. Sea dragons and sharks chatter about the olden days and my uterus doesn’t know I live on Land now. Ask the starfish that wish they could twinkle about the exodus. Maybe the wise lobster remembers. Winged friends fly above trying to get a look into the complexity of this hell of a hootenanny. Who can understand? Who cares? Can’t people appreciate a little mystery anymore? Those were the best books. Where we played detective with orphans who lived in abandoned train cars. Questioning things is not so gangster anymore. Go with the trend and follow the marshmallow man into a store of unicorn floaties and grandma jeans on teens. Who cares what we look like as long as we look alike. Then take it to salvos to make room for the next season. Half the mounds in town are made of these fabrics, as the fabric of society flies away on smoke stack clouds to other planets. We are space trash. Trashing space. Taking up too much space. Spaced out, tuned to the frequency of 5G as it destroys humanity. When enough is not enough. I do backflips in my office chair trying to eat my disgust as it belches up into instagram feeds rather than going out with the birds to plant seeds of hope. Mosquito fish guard my door and I hide my face from the screens. Use my hands to pleasure myself and quarantine my creativity. It’s only a dollhouse sanctuary for a full size human, and this is enough. No mosquitos in my inbox. Nobody saying the sea isn’t inside of me. I’m 75% water. Salt is in my blood and I run with the Moon like a crazy bitch at times so don’t tell me I am not made of space and sea. The orchids wink at me and the palm trees bend to my knees. Esperanza is the only option left. Action ran off with conservation and we are all philosophizing about what to do with Mars. Did we even land on the moon? Ooo that is a trepidatious conversation starter! What do I know? I simply breathe salty air and keep my feet dirty in hopes that my finish line comes before the end of human time.
RSS Feed
