i say, to be sure, nothing’s as it should be.
hopjacks are flooding the airstrip with bad dreams.
apparently, i’ve been riding other people’s trains about the ‘scape.
my hair is all deliberately in flux, wavering and wobbling
dancing monkeys fetch me all the things i need or desire,
whether i want them or no.
that’s just the way things are these days.
giant scissors reached down from above and snipped a hair or two.
otherwise, there’s nothing to say…
people keep squinting at the air, as if to say, “why?”
the ladies and their game pushed everything back, but
that’s fine.