Steady On, Grasshopper

Filled up to my palps
with the sight of bread strung up,
the turnips filleted,
with me crucified
in my rosy fantasy,
I search out the cause,
jumping the world lines,
these parting like smoke before
my thin blonde feelers.
I have no idea
what this all means nor whether
I should worry more
or just fiddle on,
do another new ditty
to thread through the air.

‎August ‎30, ‎2013 10:00 AM