hey Lucee!!!

let's do a little pretending this afternoon,
I'll be Ricky and you be Lucy,
you know you're in trouble
and you've got some 'splaining to do,
you can't even rehearse another ending,
there are too many
ghost whisperers and lie to me is not an
option, entirely out of the question as far
as crows fly

tell me how does my long hair always end up
in my butt crack even if I shower twice a day?
I mean, it's not rocket science you know,
eagles nest in the
high Sierras, and the koi shimmer in
the moonlit pond, cherry blossoms fall
into memories, the Southern Cross ascending
(now why on earth did I just write that, it has absolutely
nothing
to do with anything!)

so if you'd be so kind, tell me why I'm not Madonna,
or at least Angelina Jolie,
with a Pitt at my side, running around ancient tombs with
my alter ego, Lara.... though it's easy enough not to want
to play the Mariane Pearl role for a lifetime's loss of husband
and father to a son

and pray tell, Lucy in the sky, why do I keep falling in love
with voices from across the sea, as unexplained feelings
keep ravishing me
and abandoning me in my second chakra dance with
an unknown blue-skinned Shiva,

I know Narcissus looked deep inside a mirror of self-reflection
left me leaning against
the wall, between two pillars; the end of November is tomorrow
and I guess I'll never get any answer from a sitcom, though
my life leaves something to be desired.