the blessings are in disguise, but where are mine? i count one, two, three. up to ten maybes on my fingers if i wanted to. and maybe i do. the sun's outside, the typewriter's just inside a sunny window, collecting pollen dust; and me, where am i? the internet, oh! it waits just there while i plan my own high-stringing. i get smart, wide-eyed, and find you, one by one.
my ego thanks the bird in everyone's art else's than mines. they just get right in there, and oh it's pretty. instant. metaphor, and go.
