My eyes once dropped like cartoon anvils but now my cage is struck whenever demons mock the trinity and my cable resets and those without early work wake the neighbors with vintage soul tracks. What I do is I order tacos, I scribble while I can till the warm day I pop out and somebody pops me. A pact was made with lesser beings who sometimes come to my dreams to tell me things, all useless, but the years no longer grow heavy and the voice who recounted stories of my childhood beating and the day I slipped while running on ice no longer talks to me. I walk the park and I feel the park likes me, its sun beats my face to shiny eye me so that I'm hypnotized by its glitter in the leaves. I walk purples of flowers, her beside me, our trail emitting foliage, a forest with grass the color of pearls. I don't expect you to understand the mythical creature conjured that is my aura, it has horns and paws. its fur is thick so that if you kill my spirit your feet can feel its rug. You, human-like can tell stories of how I once roamed the land, a unipanigriffinipanicorn, luxurious is how your guests would describe it, in your no shoe household. I once had respect. I once ate mangoes with the greatest of men, we held the mangoes up, took bites from them and had mango parties, we threw the mangos and mangoes were thrown at us, which hit our cheeks softly. We drank Mango wine. We dipped our cups into a mango pool sourced from a mango fountain. But I didn't know how to maneuver, cutting into neat slices rather than eating messy. What I do now is I order tacos, which, if you think about it, isn't so bad.