Breathless little pod, enclose me with your Wooden floors. Let the rain outside play as Pianoforte as it can. Enough Thought to sink a ship and all I can say Is “The horses. Oh my God, the horses.” What about the horses? In a tasteless, Odorless, frictionless universe sleeps The hammer of the clouds who eats our hours And flips to more interesting channels.
Take a minute for yourself, this is just An experiment, and run up those stairs. Be sure to stop when you hear the lightning Then nip back down like thunder so you can Tell me the result. Breathe in, count to ten. Breathe out, breathe in and try to remember The middle of “Rondo Alla Turca.” Take your time, it won’t be nice outside for A while. Enjoy the breathless little room.