I am not high up as I once thought.
From here I can see Stillwater—
I believe in willpower, shortcuts,
A rock, skip and a fire-hoop jump
Over miles of reflective puddles
To reach an overwhelmed harbor.
If the day is allowed to expand:
We are doomed. Without food.
Left to chew on long stalks
Of unidentifiable plant life.
Forever furthering the stereotype.
Ruthlessly defending our honor
Cut in half by a rainbow's blade.
This cesspool is beginning to whirl!
Drink more to stave off the wild tide,
Soon there will be nothing more to see.
No bed ghosts, no refrigerator locks,
No Time to fix on a crooked cross.
Just a plastic cup and a tangled line
And another plastic cup in your hands.
These are the days that copulate,
This is my expansive crevasse.
These are the days that pass, shall pass, will pass.
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