An eternal value,
Dignity,
Or the pain caused by its violation
A cynical pain.
But let us mock it,
For is the pain that seeks to dominate us
Not deserving to be base,
Brought low by our lyrical ridicule?

When I owned the moon,
love songs made me swoon,
and birds rejoiced in magic,
but I dropped the ball,
a fumbl-
            ing

            fall.
Now all they sing is tragic.

Prodding morsels,
blissfully wasting away,
a delicious trance.

stirring my silence
with a spoon
i discovered this

deeper down
i found
different shapes
and colors

rinsing each
in the sink
i placed them
on the counter
to dry

later i rearranged
them slightly
and made this

Some say,
laughter is the
best medicine.
While I have
found that to
be true, it's
become so
cliche.
An axiom I now
live by is that
mushrooms are
the best medicine.
Perception's door opens
wide, and my jaw aches
with laughter.
I can taste blue and
green, and hear
tulips sing lovely
ballads for the
squirrels that have
forgotten where they
buried their nuts.
I train my poems like
circus bears.
They rarely maul me.
And, just between
you and me,
The Birth of
Venus painting that
hangs above my
writing desk vibrates and
pulsates like the
Gulf of Mexico.
That red headed
temptress dances
seductively, long into
the night.
And now,
my kittens think
it's funny to
meow backwards.