A window into druid lands,
And a door out to the void.
A scavenger collecting cans,
An ejection seat that's spent and deployed.
A pale yellow house that doesn't exist,
Owned by a short and elusive capitalist.
Caramel pup in the sunny grass,
(Her mother is there too.)
She's wearing rays spun from glass,
(Mom's draped in tie-dye blue.)
I've no map, but my compass is true,
And though the course remains unset,
I'll still stop to admire the view,
And I'll find my way through it yet.