Let's hit the road.
There is a fork that leads to the sea
and thousands of tiny pink spoons
used to sample
exotic ice cream flavors.
Their sharp edges against my tongue
feel like mistakes: omissions maybe,
or thoughts not taken far enough.
Some of the cream is gelatin.
I take my pill and trust
it to dissolve.
I have hopped through enough
frothy tides to know what's required
of me changes constantly.
