Dirty Paws

I don’t usually listen to music. These days I’m not well enough to follow that streak. I won’t explain it because I don’t understand it. A week ago a colleague at work told me that I’m too diverse. It was one of those rare times when people notice too much they have to make a comment. So yeah. I’m a galaxy. Very hot and white in the center, dark and scattered around the edges. Orbiting in two opposite directions of a spiral. Learning to accept myself by hurting it. On the back of my eyelids, it’s a different world. In their front, cold reality.

This is a song.

Jumping up and down the floor,

My head is an animal.

And once there was an animal;

It had a son that mowed the lawn.

The son was an okay guy.

They had a pet dragonfly.

The dragonfly it ran away,

But it came back with a story to say.

[Hey]

[Hey] Her dirty paws and furry coat,

She ran down the forest slopes.

The forest of talking trees;

They used to sing about the birds and the bees.

The bees had declared a war;

The sky wasn’t big enough for them all.

The birds, they got help from below,

From dirty paws and the creatures of snow.

[La, la, la,

La, la, la, la.

La, la, la,

La, la, la, la.]

[Hey]

[Hey] And for a while things were cold;

They were scared down in their homes.

The forest that once was green

Was colored black by those killing machines.

But she and her furry friends

Took down the queen bee and her men

And that’s how the story goes,

The story of the beast with those four dirty paws.

The notes in bold don’t mean anything.

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4 thoughts on “Dirty Paws

  1. I add that to how we think about physiognomy (since that post you wrote about hands), and also our sometimes very similar writing styles.

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