She was a girl too much alive for breathing,
Not more than an imaginary friend.
She met a man resentful of existence
For not obeying his command to bend.
She traded skins one hour in an evening
To walk among the mortals so beneath her
While the uncreative man whose shell she conquered
Took a stroll among the heavens, robed in ether.
The woman learned the pain of being solid
And how the road at night can smell of pine.
The man learned how to be imaginary
And why a drop of sunlight chose to shine.
And when the 60 minutes finished ticking
On a clock men made to solve the question, “when?”
The woman disappeared again forever
And the man awoke to be himself again.
The Daily Travesty 