Requiem of An Attention Deficit Dream

“‘Tis elementary my dear boy,” said the unclipped fuzzy lips, Whose bristles were littered with the debris of remnant chips. Whatever before the professor had said was forever lost in time, For the boy had as much the capacity to focus as does a lime. “Of course, professor,” the boy barfed back in nauseated routine, As he wished he remembered to take his daily salts of amphetamine. “Alright then, boy-oh, off you go,” said the somehow contented instructor, Who believed the boy now understood alternating current conductors. All the boy had understood was the fantasy in his head of space, Featuring a creature crawling upon his professor’s ungroomed face. He imagined a caterpillar on an epic insect adventure, To colonize his professor’s mouth as a chrysalis in his dentures.