Because therapy heals all worlds:
Welcome to Lotus Land.
The workers
the proletariat
the sea-mines
the TSA Agents of the Mind
shoot back to zip me away from gnosis.
Their neon swims across my whimsy metrics
in the small, air conditioned room.
Whales tornado a hundred thousand phrenology busts.
Warm, oozing cherry wood wands my birdcage.
Me in the center as a campfire. Beeping.
That's why I abandoned the mast for swine.
There's too much good television now.
A speedboat mustn't consider sails.
Odysseus' men slither across their barnacled flesh.
A thousand Athenas for the taking.
I chase the abandoned speedboat
then give up the ghost.
Sacrifice can make me whole again,
says the whales.
The workers — using only her blowholes — tie me
to the television above her
polystyrene-smeared lipstick.
The workers tie on her marvelous golden sandals.
This cool shade sweeps me.
You respond now.
