Dixie Cups

Whispers into paper cups dance across a string, stretched between your brick box and my brick box, a black hole gap in our 7th street Galaxy. Cradling some “you can be anything,” fallacy, -we were just kids hiding in space where sleeping adults lost satellite reception. Trained by culture in the art of deception, an unleashed reality barked howled at the moon from our ally. Released by me, free to roam through the concept of innocence and in_a_sense freed from the disease of “Grow Up!” the plague of living by a five-paragraph format. Outlined lives defined by the three body points, Intro: reformed, thesis: refined, drafted till the inevitable foreclosure of your creative mind.
Long before the conclusion was stated and the planets aligned you were nothing more than a reflection of your childhood shine. Plastering “for sale” signs up on our dreams we sold our souls to The Man. You’ll never be more than a machine, well oiled by stress, fueled by caffeine, pivoting day after day between this brick box and a concrete cube down the block where you sit in your shift just watching the clock count off the hours and a nine and two cent rate. “Penny for a thought,” but only when the proper forms are signed on that spacious black flat line reminding me of what your brain waves will look like in time.
Do you remember when we whispered sublime dreams into Dixie cups and sent our secrets through stolen string? The fear of your sister as she screamed, yanking back what was once her favorite sweater, now laced between your window ledge and my window ledge. She stole our ability to dream of universe with no edge. Stuffing our fingers into our ears we sing, “LA, LA, LA! I can’t here you,” and somehow later we find ourselves locked in by rubrics and deadlines wanting but unable end an Essay with ‘BUT’ ‘AND’ ‘OR… some other conjunction, so that every sentence is just another introduction. Allow the possibility for infinite more construction, disregard grammatical punctuation and release your inner child’s fanatical imagination. Be the start of a new generation in creation. Leaving all your words out there for free interpretation. Break out of this interstellar planetary rotation. - Make of me what you will And…