Taste the silky blue moon juice bled from the heads of burned out dreamers mainlined on the echoes of creation.
Does this moment seem a little too sweet?
It’s because the cotton candy web of space-time was cut with sugar substitutes.
Pull long pink strings of sound from the æther and wrap it around you neck—
Like a noose?
Or maybe a scarf?
I never could keep up with that slipper beast named fashion.