this morning

this morning I slept with my eyes open
the cradle rocked, but nothing happened and it seemed to me that the way everything was floating was probably something needless and long.
in fact, everything is needless and long and even though we are touching at the hips i do not want to touch any further
you are a dusty barn
i am the cattle who ran off the with spoon
much to my chagrin the owl pellets only contained birds eyes
i didn't know that owls were cannibalistic, i didn't know that the bats could fly during the day
but i read it in a book somewhere, a fictional book, but it could be true
because i like to believe things like that, because i like to think that there is something out there
something like a tap dance or a real dance or a barn yard dance because we are the melting particles of a life cycle that i don't want to end.

the end is like a nutshell, and i have throw the seeds to the wind like a robin who tweets, who tweets, who sends mobile tweets to mobile senior citizens and then i realize that i have to sign up for a bank, i have to sign up for a bank because currently all of my money is hidden under the glass elephant that sits in my corner, that sits like a small paper plate. but much larger. but but grander. because he is an elephant and because i am a falling leaf.

i was encouraged to steal words, to hide them in my lungs. and so i do, i have a connection to the real world that tastes like gravy, and im not sure that i like it, but im not sure that i have a choice. so instead i sit in my room and listen to a blonde boy ask for danishes that will never taste as good as they did when i visited oxford.

where the streets were paved wwith gold and under the blue sky sat lyra and her friends and then i remember that she is fictional too, and so am i, and so is this headache and so is the room where im sitting with the emptiness of conversation and the blue dust that is actually yellow and actually orange and actually lodged in my nasal cavity.

the emptiness touches my back, and i promised that i would never drink another gatorade again because i hear that they have weird chemicals in them, and i like to be the purest thing. the most pure thing. the only thing that i could never be, because under the secret elephant that lives in my room is a black bird, only this black bird is real, and is the only real thing i have ever seen, and so i keep it under the fake elephant and it sits and squawk but it is a muffled squawk because i can't let it go, because if i did i would mush it to pieces and eat its feathers and then it would be gone and i would have no one to sing me to sleep.