The warehouse of my mind is empty.

Muted blues, like a Miles Davis groove,
begin to fill the dusky expanse.
Deep purples, plums and cherries,
a hint of vermilion,
all flow down onto the floor of my consciousness.

The colors, each separated by a thin black border,
swirl and drain into a wormhole in the floor.

My consciousness follows.

I enter a place filled with bicycles, skateboards,
fireflies, honeysuckle vines, super heroes and pets.

Scenery flashes by in rapid-fire succession like trees
on the side of the side of the road when I was a little
kid, with my head hanging out of the car window
until my mom yelled at me to put my head back in
the car where it belonged.