It calls me.
Calls me from Rhode Island
Where there are no oysters
And no meanies to call you names.
I tread the path
That leads to nowhere,
But somewhere I see
Somebody watching.
Watching from the garage.
Don't step there.
It's not made to eat a side
Of sycamore jellybeans.
Get my vibe?
Yep.
Still calling me.
But where do I go?
Lead me on, Mr. Squiggles,
And I will find my place
In Cyprus. Just you wait.
There are no pots in Istanbul.
Why? Don't they like rice?
This is killing me from inside.
Like a mason jar
Running over with sprinkles.
Twinkle, twinkle, little orphan.
No, I don't have any money.
Or blueberries, but I do have
Thumbs. Don't you wish
You could smell like me?
The rhino.
It beckons.
Beckons me from Rhode Island.
But wait.
I am in Kentucky.
© 2012 by Zydrunas Ficklepuff
No comments:
Post a Comment