note.

I wish I were part of a cardboard box empire, that the moon would take a coffee break, that squids could be plugged into color ink cartridges, that businessmen held each other’s hands when crossing the street, that eachother was an actual word, that the dingbat was a species of brilliant marsupial, that those kittens under the overpass found a donut box for a makeshift apartment and comforter and deluxe Debbie Travis bedroom set, that freeze brain contests were a recognized sport, that streetlamps could be replaced with strobe lights, that I could sympathize with my feet, that I could find out where all the wires anywhere and everywhere lead too, that naptime was an international holiday, that I could waltz like an umbrella caught in a rainstorm, that listening was a responsibility for anyone who couldn’t see their own eyelids, that CD stood for carpe diem, that the panacea for sunburns, cold sores, and tummy aches was knowing all the lyrics to a Queen album, that the eraser head of my pencil was a micromicrophone, that the asterisk was one of many bougainvillea, and that my mother’s best friend didn’t have to die.