Whistling gladly, hanging from a bridge.

What were you thinking?

I measure you with metric straight

Lines,

Cutting corners and breathing water

All the

While I think of flying the most recent image of Mars

As a flag.

Your dress is red,

Sand

And imagination,

I lose track of the centimeters.

Do you also feel

The bridge is shrinking?

Or am I growing

To an enormous size

And bump my head on the moon,

Brush the dust off, and

I now flatten the Earth with a misstep

And whistle

Goodbye.