something skittered in the dark and crispy dawn
and startled me from my rose-colored meditation.
hey, man, I was intent on something that mattered
obsessing on the uni, the sweet and orange indelicacy
of that sweet and slimy and wonderful dream,
judged, now, in absentia
by a person that no longer matters:
syrup dripped its orbs of ghee into matters planetary that
and, excuse the phrase, were parabolically and crayolaically melon-
but there was butter and honey and sugar powdered, so,
in a feverish and sweaty dream, I decided to stay a course
in which I was not chemically challenged:
it was just what the hayseed imagined.