My lips are numbed

   by this recent flood of memories

 I swear      Orajel was snuck surreptitiously

              into my mashed potatoes

Rainy days soak my brain cells. Today is just hazy

     Walls melt when it’s overcast 

     All surrounding’s bright

             and sparkly. Even these brown walls

                          Brown Concrete Blocks

                          Gulags

 Saying, “Logic is just another voice

          Perspective valid as any other

          floating around my earlobes.

          No more and no less.”

   The singing hippopotamus on pink clouds

     The voice who comments on all the other squabblers

They have just as much floor. As logic.

    True democracy: appreciating a point

                    whether valid

                    or no

Just listen

Allow my eyes to fold back into my cranium

   Geranium.

   Fall into geraniums.

   Pretty       But they never smell right to me

 An old lady’s perfume   ripped off her carcass

 Injected into a poor, unsuspecting primrose

Deflating it into a geranium   

Aroma ala old folks’ home

Limp jellyfish         I feel all the others now

Seeing through walls   Into doors

Showing monstrous ghouls dazzling green

        and dancing angels glistening glorious glass

All my skin could fall off any minute

   How reptilian       and naughty 

   Contemplating reaching out my hand

   to crush the earth planet where I live

   I choose not to live on the moon, however

   The country sounds much more pleasant

 Still owning the moon, swallowing the sun

With no indigestion to speak of