dippin dots.
an ocean of dipping dots.
you know those ice cream pellets
purchased at games and carnivals.
you see this motion of color on the horizon.
and you decide.
you are going to do it.
you are diving into a wave and sea of multi-colored freezing cold beads
of milk and sugar and color,
so chill that some stick to your body and hands
as your fingers meet the ocean
much like an ice cube
out of the freezer sticking to your skin hairs
like a scratch-n-sniff sticker that you kept on your arm and sniffed whenever the instinct told you to. you shut your eyes when you smell.
you pick up speed and
enter head first into the
miniflavored-dotpit that has now become the ocean.
your new ocean. your magic dots.
with your head under the water you open your mouth and let the color in.
they fill you up,
it's dark down there but throught the cracks of the dots
the sun light rivulets in like baby lightning bolts cracking car glass.
you follow the hairline light fractures upward.
and break the surface for air.
you realize instantly that oxygen is not nearly
as satisfying as the neopolitan mixture that melts in your throat
and ribs at this very moment.
you wave your hands and its like rainbow sprinkles shooting out of your palms
like playing cards fired from a magicians hands
like the beams of heavenly light out of saints on laminated cards they hand out at funerals
that say everything is taken care of.
and it is.
it's all taking care of.
the stomach sings.
ice cream feels good in your hair.
you go back under and stay there a while.
