Spinner

I watched the spinner spin
A single strand twisted to the reflection of perfection
It was the color green like the spanish moss in the oak trees of Savannah

The color that kills slowly
The kind of green that makes you feel neither good or bad

Reflect upon me my scarecrow for the sun is getting hotter.
The moon took the shape of a starfish, and the clouds turned to man
The spinner's spin became the lightning, and the rain began to drip frozen oranges from California.

And we are happy inside, dancing the jig of the all jigs.