Smitten Mitten Mutton Button

Distance pulls me toward you. I search for a song I can balance in my mouth like words. Anatomies like sprocket and bungalow. Big emotions like dirt. The mosaic of the day sends me into the shade. The thick air sobs with rain. The harmonica gleams. I try to do my writing outside the parameters of time. It’s subversive. And weirdly Pythagorean. I grant that mathematics is not my greatest strength, but I’m eager to give some of these equations a try. For example, fulfillment is perpendicular to both the velocity of chartreuse and the magnetic field of most mittens. This implies that mittens have a charge parallel to the magnetism of wool and fingers are agile with greeting if they’re kept relatively warm. The wild knock of cognition leads me to believe that thought is waves and the waves are pumped from a well in the overall scheme of being itself. The eyes are illumined from within by a small white candle called the pineal gland. I’m doing life in pallets. The seashore flourishes in epilogues. I fondle the fog. I have a collection of incendiary escalator cubes. They spout remedies and nutmeg. The universe is harnessed in stars. Structure is an open nerve. Flying alters my perspective. I push more vapor toward Corot and cook the paint in theological chatter. I like to drift. I like the general feeling of random movement. This is why I study the laxity of wind. Walking settles my opinion in the wonderful burn of the moment. The symptoms are all shouting pellagra. The brain is wonderful with guesstimates. It’s like a speedometer of poetry whose spectrum is enameled in exhilaration. I jump to ruminate. The fork is more crucial than the spoon when it comes to the thickness of the meat and the embellishments our pathos provides for the gaze of the banana mask. Yes, I’m radical, but aren’t you? I mean, listen to the clank of consciousness across this table. I use a little paper to catch what I can. There’s a dash of strain in the muscularity of my tie and the recklessness of my approach makes the sandwich big with sequel. And here it is, the final result: watch as it trickles down the glass of this incarnation, grasping at heaven.