I found myself wandering again to somewhere reality was liquid and blue
because everyone knows blue is thecolor of despair.
I fed my llamas from a shotgun-shaped Pez despenser and ignored the tears burning in my eyes
because mice don't cry.

The neon lights that passed through the park were metaphilosophical
in the sense that not a one made sense.
They were achievements to underachivers.

I kissed the sidewalk and went bobbing for pizza
because pizza is better.

I turned off the water and said, "The way this is going, Muyego doesn't stand a chance."
The llamas agreed.

We spoke over pickles and Mountain Dew of a greater meaning behind it all
and we found
that life is a consperecee.

But we couldn't spell it.