Like Water

I heard Moses on the radio, telling everyone about the Commandment of the Day. Water races up the cup to swish and splatter on our heads. He looked up "down" and found his own dead body. She taught him how to fall in love with the sound of every word he said. Even elephants travel together through space. Every drop of light that falls in my pocket, I'm keeping for later. The mortician's fingers laced around each other like the patched quilt of a baby doubling as a funeral shroud. Space fills nearly as quickly as time. I feel like a tree, and I want to move over there, see the world. Titanium is the next Adam Sandler. Screaming won't help you now. She loves those shoes. I hear every few million years, and it always sounds like a cat crying. Why not? He took a pitchfork and stabbed himself in the hippocampus, where music leaked out instead of blood. Soda matters. You walked all this way to find an empty well, only to realize all the water was inside you. Crisp applies to beer and bacon. Can't fool the reaper. We danced all night under photons that had to travel millions of miles just to be reflected by your eyes into mine, and then I kissed them. Try not; do, or do not, there is no try. The future is difficult to see with eyes under moving water. She wasn't made of matter, she was luminous. Green.