This Is Not A Pipe

Hello!

This is your speaker, speaking.

Entangle yourself with all that is intangible

Take heed of all escapes

Keep your limbs and leaps to yourself

Be at peace

And remain vigilant to all further commands

This is not a pipe

This is not a painting

In fact

What you are looking at

Is nothing short of fiction

I would say,

In some particular senses,

That this could be a dream

But with hands, ground, breath, and mirror in check

You'd know it wasn't

In all manners of speaking

Do not believe

Doubt.

And seek for the truth of all statements

I may be wrong to assume a perfect world

If all were to be brought up with this mindset

But I may also be right

You may call me lucky

But you can also call me Fred

I'd prefer a self-title

To anything you may have said

I write rows in beaches

And sour dough bread

I take pours and leeches

From Jack Daniel's stead

I rate your news;

"Too legal" or "no hits"

But nothing and put something

Over the chair he sits

I ride cows at daytime

But feed them nickel berries, too

I ride peacocks at nighttime

And bleach their red feathers blue

I am reinstated

Overcompensated

And out of all the things I used to think about

But I still think about you

And what we used to do

When we ran out of cigarettes