In a dusty town square
The two of us walk, I chew copper coins
It is silent except for our footsteps and the hammering
Of the coffin maker
I see the sky crinkle like cellophane and hear
The harmonica player
I ask my young companion in the 10 gallon hat if this makes me a genius
He tells me it does and hands me the chalice
The white queen sits on an ivory throne facing the sea
Her toes dig into the sand and grasp for olive colored stones
From the waves walks a sailor carrying linckia laevigata
Blue asexual sigils
Under the lemon sky, a large man in suspenders,
Who may or may not be a corpulent Teddy Roosevelt
Mustache wiggling discusses
The finer points of squeezing nipples
With a woman with the red head of
A woodpecker and MacGregor Mathers
As I meditate I watch my mind start to drift
From eating fried chicken to eating out
The ass of Asatta Shakur
Somewhere below Kether a chorus of parrots sings
“Life’s a game, some win, some lose”
— James C Springintveld is an American in exile. He likes country music and meditation. He can be found on Twitter (@tuna_ape).