It’s best not to dwell on things.
For example, if you dwell on a spaceship
you are probably a character from a science fiction movie,
you probably die before the end of the movie.
Another example is if you dwell on a mountain top:
there could be an avalanche and you could plunge to your doom.
It is better to dwell in things like a toilet.
If you dwell in the sewers you are probably an alligator
or a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.
If you live with me there is a one in six chance you are my girlfriend.
There is also a one in six chance that you are me.
If so you should go to the dentist,
it’s been over a year.
You should also be more vigilant
about keeping the water bottle next to your bed full.
When it gets empty you tend to forget to take your pills
and even though it’s not so important for you to take them anymore
it is still important to encourage a daily routine.
One way of doing this is by saying
Go routine go!
What am I doing?
I hate it when people tell other people what to do.
If you were my girlfriend
you would remember the first time we had Skype sex.
Margaret walked into the room and said
Thomas, you’ve got no clothes on.
That was good because she didn’t tell me what to do.
I am a hypocrite because sometimes I say
Tell me what to do
because sometimes it is easier not to make your own decisions.
For example, it was very difficult for me to decide
whether to end this poem
or dwell within it forever
building staircases between the lines
so I could slide backwards down the bannisters
and only ever wear socks.
Have you ever been to a slumber party inside a poem?
The pillow fights are a lot of fun
because when the pillows burst
doves often fly out of them like pinatas
and even though birds are terrifying
they get eaten by polar bears so everything is okay.
My bed is a bear.
I feel asleep while he was giving me a piggyback ride.
He carried me out of the poem, through the market,
and all the way back home.
Jackson, you tall glass of lovely.