Dancing sugar plums do not visit me seasonally. No, no; I see strawberry fields forever and always. Every night, in fact, the mixing bowl that is my mind begins the prep work on the nightly feast I find in my sleep.
I wrap myself tightly like a burrito. I close my eyes and am transported to the pillowy gnocchi clouds of my dreams. In this Willy Wonka vacationland, there is no mud, just Nutella. The puddles are of pudding. And the snowflakes I catch on my tongue are sugary sweet…
I awake to a bittersweet reality: Life is grand, but broccoli is better for me.
2.21.2008
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment