You said all was copacetic
as I turned cartwheels across the floor;
you said it kinda made you sea sick;
someone asked who was keeping score.
The bear who lived across the hallway
complained he couldn't smoke anymore;
the painter laughed; the writer said he didn't pay.
Then the room started spinning faster
as the floor dropped into space;
fireworks were shared together
over silk and discarded lace
by the wolf and his pole dancer...
Then we hit the dusty trail.
And so it was years later,
when your best friend told the tale,
he said there was no reason ever,
and pierced his magic cards with a fingernail
before all that existed became a blur.
And so it was that time went on a respirator
while we spit through the rabbit's door,
and slid into the dream of Mother,
who turned cartwheels across the floor.