P.J.'s Wisdom

It’s a time where little people rule the pool hall.
Listen to the sound of the drum beat.
It’s the reverb of happy little magic snaps.
We hear about random accounts, but draw colors that don’t exist.
It’s time to dance the serpent dance.
We need to paint the house black,
Then draw red on them.
The end of sadness is the end of reality.
We see it, we love it, but its not what, but how we live it.
Eat berries, beat up cherries.
Say high to the evening bliss,
Kiss the evil monkey in the closet.
Sleep with the driver who delivers the newspaper to the homeless.
Wake up, feel the air in the morning, let the evening dew cover the eyes of the world.
The wolf howls to the moon like the turtle to the sand.