come to my window at night
when the new moon is high
singing i receive the bounty
of my internal hunters
who thank the stars for guiding them
this pulp is not fiction
this mass is my dream
everything else is just between
this and that exchange meaning and direction
tight rope becomes a cooked noodle
stuffed and primed for consumption
now the choices become clearer by the second
going right is a good idea
just know that it'll take you to the same place
left would have brought
there is no more balancing act
there is no more is
so get out of your house
and play with the water and the sun
when you are done
make a pie
and smile.
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