Picnic with Blankety Blank

A mood is swinging wildly
in the crazy afternoon.
Bus conductors have all posted
Signs with the letters E, V, I, and L
On their hoods. I walk next to my
Cycle where the tar
Cuts up unnavigably badly.
Grin, salute, cycle again.
Somewhere else, this haze is lifting,
exposing the glittery cliffs to the sun. This
is the place where dizzy death holds her
auditions. A speck can be seen at the
highest jutting point, black on blue.
From the speck, a whistling sound.
And now the speck grows arms
and waves its arms around.
“I prefer to imagine things at their
extreme limits, even though that’s not
where most things live,” speck seems to
say. “And I can’t imagine things without
also experiencing them. For me, games
are not that fun.”

Today I walked down the street alone,
smiling broadly at no one.

I need to stop hiding my emotions.
I need to know what I hate.
How else will I know what I feel.