You think I am broken,
pepper on the pudding you've melted the world into,
thrust into little glass cups,
ruined by the seasoning of my inventive curses.
Won't you soften, just a bit,
and step out onto the precipice with me?
We can march to our own drumbeat, here,
high above the street.
I am tall enough that you could kiss or climb me;
bite the bullet, chew the notion.
Pretend that we have taken the water-carriage all the way to Trinidad
and that you actually like calypso music,
and my ways.
As we rapidly take on water,
I'll say something cryptic, yet suggestive,
and you will believe again.
Fancy the healing our colliding idiocies can fashion!
Can we just close our eyes,
forget about leverage and vengeance
long enough to be in the moment,
one foot each in mid-air,
the other cramping
and the dumb greedy ground yawning below.
You can never master me, you know,
but we can affect a certain edgy hipness.
We shall wear exoskeletons like crickets,
and when night falls, we shall touch our index fingers together
in the divine joke that is us, and say,
It is the only way we will ever fall.
for Get Listed at Real Toads, where Timoteo has given us a list of 20 words, and I have used every one because I am a good and obedient girl.