I think about packing up my bags
Moving to Manhattan where people hide in rotary clubs
When I hear the wispy susurration of cabin turtles
The ode of halflings wizards and magic
Never to be replaced by intellectual conversation
In such gerrymandered districts it's against the law
To puff lucky charms in the morning for the sake
Of glossing lilac crystals brighter and dull
Simultaneous it's a miracle some have hypothesized
On peer reviewed journals about magnetohydrodynamics
Or kittens chasing balls of yarn there's a thread
Woven nonetheless despite the harshness of the
Aftertaste or the heat of a rushing bowel
Movement of words and thoughts and cardinals
Signaling pedestrians marching to a mechanized
Routine never existing in the first place because
Wet zeppelin parade pioneers burn out last
(To the tune of dharma mantra waviness)