Breaking Point

breaking point

sometimes you got to hang it on the line and let time unwind.

ok, having got that out the way,

let's play.

kangaroos are bouncing down a leafy avenue,

lights blazing like bees through morning dew,

and waves are rising over everything, (skyscraper size)

bleeding, needing me and you as most things do.

the trees lining the avenue are blue,

lifting and flipping upside down,

the roots fingering the sky like silky soup,

and then suddenly, (from all over the place)

wheels start spinning,

wheels in elegant capes and shiny black boots,

and they dive and lay eggs in the roots.

the eggs begin shaking, cracking, hatching, (oh no, watch out)

and heads poke out,

eyes casting laser beams through cornfields.

and hatching from some eggs,

shifty looking peaches sweeping crabs with tweezers,

the crabs becoming jigsaw pieces

coming together on their own,

making pictures like snowy hills you can ski down

under a dome of super minty shaving foam, yeah.

and hatching from some eggs,

pizza slices racing around a track

in turbo chariots pulled by silver robot cats (scary things, no ears).

and hatching from some eggs,

a great big zit bursting in a bunghole,

a beautiful blonde bunghole with hairy toes and punk rock attitude.

and the zit in the bunghole

takes the shape of an electric tadpole,

swimming at peace in its watery green home,

pause,

if you buy that tadpole part

shall we make the floor alive,

make it soar and dive,

have it hitch a ride on a super ballistic carnival ride,

chomping bones as it zooms along.

where were we? one plus one equals three? two and two is jive?

no, we were talking about a great big zit

in a beautiful blonde bunghole,

oh my, lovely romantic lullaby, heart strings, hills, whistles, valleys,

meadows, fine wine whispers, killer blue, nightmare dream.

to conclude,

between me and you,

what we fighting most times

is the silliness inside our minds.

hope joy better than before. peace. drew.