I am a wiggle button cremaster! I am a ghostly wiggle button weebutter!
Words flow in happy gobblemeisters today, and I cannot stop them.
I am in such a terrific fibbernuggly mood, my friend, Mr ClutterHutter!
Why do you call me that? My husband asked. Makes me rethink him.
A clowbugger, a barwiggle, a tromaker too! I sing loudly now and hot.
The more I free up my imagination, the louder and happier I sing.
Drew the purple polka dotted pony with red mane yesterday, did I not?
Loving my imagination today. Knowing the creativity she will soon bring.
My zigglemistic toes tap out a poem, so I am in the happiness zone.
The gobblemeister joyfulness of my imagination dance is plain.
I am new, fresh, revitalized. My fibbernuggly self I happily hone.
Creativity pens a fairy pirate queen’s unicorn holding a glittery I-phone.
I'm in a hospital room
for something.
Head trauma?
The doctors are feeding
me these pills.
Except, they're not
doctors,
they're these, you know
cosmic beings
stalking from the corner
of this dusty
Hexagon.
What I thought
were pills
I now know
are the vital
crystals of
endoenlightenment.
I clasp them with
my hand
and crunch them
with my teeth.
Except, they're
not my teeth,
or my hands,
but flowing
orifices
projected by my
very frightened
and disillusioned
left ventricle.
Thump, thump, thump
goes my left
cremaster muscle.
It creaks to life.
I am now peeling
from the walls
of the open
cavity
of a vivisected
ideology.
Julio, come to me.
Bring me my insulin drink.
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