My mind tripped and fell last night, tumbling
through walls and beyond rabbit-holes, past
books and countries and time. I ended up
someplace where right equalled up, 'cause
gravity was bringin' them down and left was
a far better place to be.
You see, if I could paint your mind there'd be
purple roses made of magic, the food-colour
lies would be extinct and we could live
happily ever after in a world where hearts hide in
the sandbox and can be carried in buckets, child's
play. It'd be simple as five-fingered hands and so
unlike telling time, which never stands still long
enough for accuracy's sake.
The pendulum makes me nauseated, too much
control cased in carved wood and class. Fingerless
hands can't count to twelve and besides, I'd rather
count to a hundred on one hand, pass go, collect my
dues and go home. I don't like this counting world
I'd rather be where right mean up and down means
left, but by whose definition in this 8-bit block of
world? Directions and perceptions, personifications of
life meant to be as we round the circle one more time,
through the neverwhere back to where we

A/N: "Gravity's bringing us down" is the name of a song by Beaulah. "Neverwhere" is a novel by Neil Gaiman. I do not claim ownership of these words or phrases. Also, things I write about a lot: time, relationships, playgrounds.