Intimate numbing of the minds a creative
Return to the clock strikes early too much
Peanut butter toast will fill your belly on
Old bread, but whole grain, mind you, if
The body strikes the notch skill might
Let’s go fishing from the pier at the back
Of our most scary imagination in the spot
Where we throw it all in the blender we
Hope something good will come of it but
Nothing ever does we keep on, not quite
Realizing the insanity of it all, the tiny bit
Morphs into the demon on your shoulder,
It clings, it sings, it whispers things that
Might disturb you, with a healthy set of
Wings, in a life of purity, of paradise, of
No stress or money. So, what do you do,
In this new found string of past times and
Experiential happenings, a couple stings,
For the family winged way to perfection