They Swoon Over Tom, Who

The Wolf Was At The Door. His Shadow Spilled Into The Room, Taking It Over.

I Feel Like I Swallowed A Magritte. Like On The Inside, I'm Made Of Clouds And Floating Eyes, Green Apples, And Slowly Rising Men In Bowler Hats.

If This Were A Movie, I Would Bust A Secret Move So Fierce The Entire Place Would Be Razed To The Ground. I'd Finish With Something Snappy Like "and Don't Forget My Soda, Punk" While I Strolled Off Into The Night.

The Man In The Shop Peered Disapprovingly At Evie Through The Glass. She Pumped Her Arms And Legs Up And Down In Imitation Of A Marching Band, Gave The Man A Salute, And Continued Her Meandering Walk To The Museum.

The Dull Pain Of Truth Weights My Soul, Pulling It Under. I Am Left Hopelessly Awake.