Gift me with song My darling flute-player Gentle stirrings Musical stimuli Rouse the heavens To extraordinary flight Take me to the throes Of immorality and back The jetstream of which Will glisten like gold Upon your sacrificial lips
It is sunny out But I know storms are coming Where are the storm clouds?
This is literal and metaphorical. I live in Colorado, where the weather people are almost always wrong, and today there was supposed to be scattered thunderstorms. But, right now, it’s super sunny. I’m gonna let you guys decide the metaphor. Let me know down in the comments what you think the metaphor is.
I’m not exactly sure—how tall are you? [I’m about as tall as I’ll ever be—one day soon, I’ll probably start shrinking. I’ve heard that happens when you get older.]
Well... [Well, you say? How deep is it?]
It’s hard to tell, since I never used it for water. [Deep wells are best—why I still remember the drought of ‘34 and all the trips we made to the neighbor’s well after ours dried up.]
I’m sure those were quite the days, but how are you today? [Today? Today I do as I please...so long as I’m pleased to do as I’m suppos’d to.]
That sounds like a good strategy. [Thanks. You’re welcome to adopt it—I won’t even charge you for it.]
How generous of you. Thanks. You have a good day now, ok? [I hope to, because every day above ground is a good day.]
Inspired by and compiled from conversations with my Grandpa, who lived with my family during my formative years. He’s the first literalist I ever met and frequently said: “You talk so much, you talk so much, you worry me to death.”