As we dabble in the construction of bathtubs,
Fluorescent strobelights flash behind our eyelids.
Popularity, my dear!
Can we dance, can we dance?
You tell me to flex and point
( B A L L E R I N A )
But your idea of a POINT
Is truly an ANGLE.
I am the nucleus of life.
Can you decipher my creation?
Can you piece together that which is unfinished?
We’ll gamble away our existence,
While hopefully discovering the inevitable.
I’ve never typed a stanza
( I A M B I C P E N T A M E T E R )
Structure is nonexistent.
Ten , two. Ten, two.
“Like” is the ketchup of our conversation of late.
You tell me you prefer mustard,
while smoothing on the puréed tomatoes.
Can we, like, dance?
Weather or not you join me,
My feet are beginning to twitch.
My feet are twitching, and I am not pointing.