Στοίχοι: Hymie's Basement. Moonhead.

andy:
did you hear the one
about the day the moon fell to earth?
it had a crater exactly the size
of a human head on it
and it landed on my head
and now my head is the moon.
or the one about the day
a thousand lives from now
when we return as a team of archeologists
and discover fossils of ourselves
in a former life
on the day we spurned our nervous twitch
and found our yearn to hint at winter bliss.
on the day the stars
sang the national anthem of sweaty disbelief,
of coelacanth teeth,
to scream loud enough
to shatter the roof of a coral reef
and the shrapnel ground up into paint
for robin's egg colored dream
and root beer float,
second hand flavored drool absorbers
and the words "hope" and "home"
that sound the same,
smell the same as the day
the doe caught a sad snowflake on her
tongue and melted it in an instant
and it tasted like the blackhole's
wild-eyed longing for light,
whether from the starts that radiate
or the planets that reflect it
or the eyes that reflect the reflection,
or the eyes looking into those eyes
and seeing the reflection of the eyes,
which if all goes according to plan,
will outlast the universe itself.