Itec Delirium

My highball glass only holds melting ice
There is no glass
The ice is a woman in a field of corn
She works her way to the center
Where she finds a tropical island
Or a broke down tractor
Her eyeballs plop from her head
But Keith Richards drives up
On a motorboat made of ice cream and gummi bears
And puts them back in their proper place
Then he sings an Elvis song
But he f***s up the words
The notes come out of his throat
In an old cartoony way
They float off in the wind
Like seeds from a dandelion
The Notes are really bullets
They hail down on me
Like a swarm of bees
A teenage girl or some kind of goddess
With a half-shaven head
One blue and one green eye
Steps in front of me
While she absorbs the wave of marshmallows
I ask her if she’s ok
She says, “I like your nose”