Poem. 

Open toed sandals, open toed heart.

Paper towels that are used and

Spoons that are like knives. Dinner

Tables with mice on them and the

Door bell is on fire. The old man across

The way is screaming my name, while the

Cats are hanging from the roof. A party in

My mouth happens, only at Thanksgiving

And the little boy I once loved, is now

Off with another girl. Tree bark and old

Men with bumble bee knees and little

Stoned mushrooms. The way she looks

At me is the same way she looks into

The death of a sunset. The train is about to

Take off, while the rocket is on its way home.

My brain works better with no morning talk

And a nights rest. My brain will create until

The day I die. Today is Tuesday and I guess that is better

Than yesterday, when it was a work week Monday. 

Cheers to the upcoming day and happiness to all.