the stars were candy wallpaper
with my big head rolling through your hills
the moon
was a vanilla wafer
it cut my tongue and i grimaced with sugared blood

sometimes you only understand me
with fistfuls of hills and these twirling stars of Van Gogh

and sometimes,
i know better.

but i rarely let go...

sometimes my brain runs a deficit on leg muscle tissue
and my heels kick up dust past the brush in the night
and i wander the city alone at night
and i feel dumb but i'm sure i'm alive

then the trees listen to me jabber on about the government
and i whisk past the bushes on my bike, i might
stop to roll up a dutch.