After the Goldrush Pt. I
I watch the jug of milk
and sit patiently as untold minions skim off the cream
Aphids are crawling in my hair
Singing top 40 tunes toodley-doo
but I rarely flinch
My castle is all bent stones and torn shrouds
I can't even muster a force of 10 men
Without an heir nor a queen
my meals are small and mere trifles
But I dream fermented grapes with great gusto
Plus... my inkblot venn diagrams are disappearing
I spend more time in line for wine
than I do spraying parapaint on the pixelboard
The echoes are unbearable
and my hands are twisted little wrecks
Can I still see healthy?
Do my toes turn blue next with rectangle keychains?
Is this jungle going to make me melt?
Does anyone still believe?