Ode to the stranger things

I sank into the sandy couch Into the sunken place The doughy smell and the white sound of Eleven Brimming from the little box I had never watched the series Things are stranger here In America.

I was swimming in the sea My hand reached out to the sloppy slimy mucus-y seaweed, seeking for a sabulous space– so I slumped into A white time On a white couch Where everyone was speaking the white language of Eleven.

I found sunflowers whispering to each other In parasomnia, shaking With the drowsy wind of a sound And crows that serenade people with their angelic voice And snow that never melted And chocolate gold coins used as currency On the sandy white couch, facing the TV In an apartment that I knew the way to.