Sometimes my melt is braining
and I get dry from going out when it is raining
I know I'm dreaming but still I'm beaming
don't feel like bothering with the seeming.

A chronicle of woe is freezer for your snow, don't stuff it in and it'll turn to water and slip away.

I studied at the paws of a cat, sat where it sat, shat where it shat.
When in slumber it chased ghost mice I was with it and it was nice. By the sides of lakes of cream and over logs that cross a stream, we'd chase the mouse for the hunt alone.

For days we'd track, forth and back, never sensing any lack. We spoke not, we slept not, we ate nothing and drank only rainwater. No stalewater, no mudwater, no housewater. Until finally, in the temple of the rat we'd find a ghost mouse in the rat hat.

They would discuss then, the mouse and the cat, about everything under the stars and what the ancient dreams begat. And I would listen, and try to learn, trying to brighten but not to burn.

Sometimes my melt is braining, sometimes I get dry from going out when it is raining.