Tear off pink leaves
Lining silver spears of fruit
That hang to be
Pressed, beaten, ******
Turned Yummy into
Zorb’s first taste of
Magnetic hazy swirls, pulp
Floats to the surface and
Reflecting in the juice,
Contained in the grainy, clear
Plastic cup, is the fluorescent apron
Of his purple hued waitress
DO NOT spill that platter of
Warm Grabtov Cakes
Chef Remi hollers
Sporf Sprinkles, Cremb Crumbs, Pinch of Flour
Sector 02 harvest labor wages inflating
Simultaneously as these stomach do
French pressed black dust
With Tulken cream fresh from the
Open void of Farmer Joe’s glowing lime cloud fields
Stop in
Galactic highway quasar X68G
A diner stop on route to EGS-zs8-1
Spiriling towards vacation,
the silken lava beaches
of blackhole and distant quasar ULAS
Filling the infinite time
With Coffee and Cake

the slip of hand
that costs so much
a serrated knife
while making lunch
a pool of blood
seemingly ******
just cutting bread
in response to hunger
I never meant to cut you off
a sandwich for a hand
is the worst tradeoff

write a poem
write a song
let the words drip from your pen
one by one.
splish splosh
the words soon make,
drip drop
a beautiful lake.
paddle down and see the view
its something special
and something new