The Monkey on my shoulder is -
a grown up to my child
listening to me but not hearing
She knows -
Her teacups fill to up to the rim
with coffee colored white
She talks
of blossoms & breezes
Instead she is orange marmalade and sharks
She is a shallow deep end, inviting me to dive
She is a transparent globe, with cracks I cant see
She is a one way street going through a cult de sac
She is a tornado
She is an invisible sandcrab.
She is a marker without color, a pen out of ink
She is gray, confused about black or white
She flies near trees
She celebrates under the flannel covers.
Alone