Space is a broken love affair
Grafted to New Orleans,
Swimming in bright lights
and covered in cream.

My dreams do the tango
In dark little rooms
Where the underfed man goes
And the overweight loons

Spin finely under the beams.
Time ran past the lucky few
As another day to do the tango
In the land where Peter Pan goes,

Where we are old on the outside only
but loosely under ten on toes.
Where we want to fly forever in my pants,
We don’t want any other clothes,

Just pants in which the wang goes
But keep the peaches free.
Free to do the tango,
In the land that Peter Pan knows.


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