Everyday Majestic Musings

It's weird, you know, to feel so close.
How does this make any sense?
We've only met just now, and yet,
the conversation's immense.

We talk and talk and talk some more,
I never get tired, you never get bored.
Two hours go by, then three, then four.
It never feels like fulfilling a chore.

I'll be sad when it's in the past tense.

Plant a pickle, grow a pickle, take a pickle, owe a pickle.
Eat a pickle, slurp a pickle, smoke a pickle, blow a pickle. *
Slice a pickle on the table with a scalpel, surgeon's practice.
Put a pickle in a pot of sandy soil, prickless cactus.
Whisper secrets to a pickle, cold and green and wetly glistening.
Pickle doesn't care what you said, not so very good at listening.

* - This line is sex euphemisms, and I think that's very funny.

9. A farmer works for years in the fields
8. by carthorse hooves and steel plough wheels
7. grinding ground to greater yields
6. from birth until she keels.
5. To market she wields
4. with "Farm Fresh" seals
3. veg unpeeled.
2. Who'll deal?
1. We'll.

Two monkeys dance a wild tango
'round the jungle, hither yon,
together faster than they can go
alone through the Amazon.
They crash right through some prickly bushes,
gallup off a precipice.
Sprawling, falling, cold wind rushes
in their ears, all hope is gone.
They should have looked where they were going,
but the monkeys won't be missed.

I sit here eating a burrito,
wondering why it looks pink.
My stomach churns, I feel uneasy.
Suddenly extremely queasy,
I barely make it, not so easy,
to throw it all up in the sink.