Wisdom Chews

My hair smells like bacon
and my ice has turned to water.
I’m fishing in my mind for a bite,
but all I can feel is that the sun is getting hotter.

And get this,
it is night.

My pants are all getting tighter on me,
wish my grip on life was.

I’ll get out of this.

And I will not run with it,
I will walk it into it’s place.

I will run with freedom.
And I will carry nothing but
my own weight.

There are comedians,
are there life analysts that joke about the mundane and the reality of life?

Or
are those two the same things?

I’ll be fine.
I know I am.
Sometimes I create the tornado so that I can spin out of it
clear headed.
As if all the cobwebs and gunk,
spun in control
to my own spin.

And then I ballarina away
on my tippy toes.

I’m closer to the sky that way
don’tchuu know?