I haven't the energy anymore.
The pangs of gentle zest tricked me out of my boxers,
and left my only brain,
grinding against tight denim.

Without a calling card,
the mulch fell down like French Rain.
We were buried in its
turbid gyrations.

The sky was bright, but we could not see it.
Like a lemon,
Like a waffle,
Like a sack of potatoes,
I unhinged my door and
challenged my reality with a rotting submarine.

Now my eardrums are all of a sudden flooded with the lingering noise of
every curse I've ever heard,
but I find myself only mildly offended.

Checkmate!
Touchdown!
Presto!
You sunk my battleship!