I turn the sky inside out like a blue t-shirt, hidden seams blossoming light beams that keep your floor from falling through my ceiling, else Mother Goose guess through golden Humpty Dumpty debris while I push shopping-cart caterpillars through the aisles of my bloodstream. Before and after fiberglass slipper, stick figure skate to illu-straight jacket beside the immaculate medicine cabinet. I know the quarantine ceremony’s about to commence when you snap on a rubber glove before patting me on the head. And I propose precaution as double negative: Be careful before being careful’s the parable we’re embedded in as wooden soldiers carved for motionless warfare, ironically ordered to stack the bricks before applying the martyr’s mortar. Couldn’t hold it in, I pissed my pants laughing at such incompetence and broke my ribs coughing up stress incontinence. Life is the one thing I’ll end I had no part in starting so I guess when I kill myself I’ll just be cleaning up my mother’s mess. Hypnotic subject change of address, here’s an idea for cinema: Slide the welding mask over your face and ignite acetylene enema. Abbreviating an ampersand’s antithesis—the animated antics of an antonym’s ambient amulet… What? Sharp bright minds, but like radio-station tower lights they blink, flicker and pulse but never completely shine…

I see bats asleep under rainbows, hung from bridges of wet light. Head clouds soak the air in mist. Sleep is a myth over the harbor where night trawls its own dark oblivion for better words, concise? Precisely…

I’ve abandoned my feathers and buried all their shovels. Now, my claws are learning to pedal their swing away from the cage. Welding the links of dawn’s chain reaction, wrapping a new gift means poison in German tactics. And not one snowbank could pack this payload. With a basketball-hoop halo, I dribble past unsuspecting cerebral lobes. This track is my field, now let’s discuss the compact discus I wield and hurl at the unfurled flag of a smiling world, but my frown just won’t keel…over the black and white rainbow of a tornado’s color-blind eye might risk exposure. Initially, I was nervous about swallowing butterflies, but I compromised at the risk of popping a prophylactic necktie. And if raindrops were a race then drought is genocide, implanting cactus acupuncture with voodoo-doll hides—needles which writers fill to eyes with ink like quills on porcupines. If no one else is buried in this cemetery does anyone die? My hope here’s to engineer a sound for sore ears, but we’re too busy jumproping strands of time and playing leap year. Redundancy’s abundant, surplus strung up and stranded—only demand a cover-up if the weather balloons crash land. All the useless wars and bouquets set on the graves of soldiers fallen, but even bees on bicycles couldn’t petal their way to the pollen…

I see bats asleep under rainbows, hung from bridges of wet light. Head clouds soak the air in mist. Sleep is a myth over the harbor where night trawls its own dark oblivion for better words, concise? Precisely…