Today is the day that all of my skin falls off.
It sheds and peels, and there I am.
A banana. Not without flaws.
There's probably a little bruise,
But you could probably just cut it out,
and I'd be just fine to eat.
I like bananas with peanut butter.

That's really all I have to say.
I keep hearing that.
People have plenty to say,
they just don't want to say it.
They don't want anyone to hear their soul noise.
That ambient trip-hop of their inner world.
They don't want us to see their brown horses
riding the water slide of their mind-veins.
They don't want us to see the umbrellas
opening and shutting
with their wildly shifting weather patterns
that is their nearly beating heart.

Don't you know,
we're all just in a tool box.
No one has they keys to let us out,
so we don't have anything to fix.
All of these hammers and nails,
and no boards or shutters to secure our windows.
We'd like to think that's what we do,
and our imagination sure does feel
a lot like our waking life.