forsythia (part 1)

Simply put, there is not enough spaghetti in the world.

There is not enough and your head is a pumpkin.

Pulp flapping like a watermill, the rhythm of days

that are indistinguishable from each other.

You say if you got to choose the flag attatched

to your spine, it would be a no-flag.

What about the wobbly thing winging off the back of your bike?

The clouds are herded into inky pens.

This rock and roll song sure beats the hell out of road rash.

Like, when the tire slips on the trolley tracks.

Oh, it’s raining and your head is still a pumpkin.