Floon Me To The My

_ You seem to be in a rush today.
_ I wouldn't know a rush if I bumped into one. I'm here; I've always been here. Why rush to get where you are?
_ It's never too late to get an early start.
_ The procrastinator's maxim. I'm thinking about waxing my gonads.
_ Your socks don't match; nothing you say surprises me.
_ Back in the day, you'd be what was known as a bullshit artist; I, on the other hand, am a Manhattan sophisticado. I know tomorrow never knows.
_ Wrong.
_ The clap of one hand sounding?
_ The Chinaman bonged the wrong gong, and the straight line of time wrinkled.
_ He pressed the right shirt; it, too, is wrinkled.
_ Feet silently entwined while their owners slept - love under the sheets while the alphabet rested.
_ What color is red?
_ Yesterday pain; tomorrow the same, with golf balls the size of hailstones.
_ What color is red?
_ Floon me to the my.
_ One more time...
_ The silence of the only sound.
_ The hand of one sound clapping.
_ Floon me to the my. Dark; the stars are in search of their mother.
_ Here comes the moon.
_ And yet, the band played on.
_ It was a union gig.
_ 'Tis impossible for an it to be was.
_ 'Tis impossible for an it to be otherwise.
_ The what is. Who dat?
_ Who dat?
_ Chai?
_ Chai.

                                                                     <><><>

     ... Sunshine, then moonlight... we are as filling for a sandwich, with empty mirrors for the bread. Crunch! Life is a shattering experience. I need neither broom, nor glue.

     ... Hear tell of a place called Hariboo's Egg Farm. A place to rest your weary head after your mind explodes. A place where people are; they just are. Where when it rains, it rains; it doesn't pour. A place where breathing is king. Who are you?

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