we could still be still

The middle path colours inside the lines, does not wander, does not cheat. Perfectionism poisoned prolificity provides petal, Uma. Yuma. Zoom-Zoom! Click! Pan! Flute solo on the d-beam banister slide down the steps of our chosen scale. I weigh enough for the both of us. I am eating for two, but cooking for thousand. Loaves, fishes, broken dishes. A one-eyed jackrophone swings lazily in the center of our cube. How does she hear the bass. How does she hear the drums. Eight tracks, back to back to mono. We hear in stereo, but, how often does one ear hear things this loud with this exclusivity. Screw you left ear, I'll fade the guitar solo in your direction when I'm good and ready. The NuTrio and the psychic drummer. Together. Singing. Ringing in the new year. I've got an oven, Mitt. One giant sloe gin fizz martini, keep the change.