One day, I went to the woods
and there were no trees to see.

There were golden portals.
Caterpillars were crawling in.

I thought it would be fun
so I crawled in, too.

It wasn't. Most of them were
rooms with chairs playing music

while different chairs played
a variation on musical chairs

involving kidney stones.
A few were barren.

I would attempt to kick a rock
but the rock would disappear.

I wondered about that. I didn't
for long because I needed to

nap. The portals grew smaller.
A cluster fit two arms, a leg.

Me: at the bottom of the ocean
in a video game file overwritten

by a video file of the ocean. Me:
waving. Me: waving

but in the absence of air.
What if I was an astronaut

who was afraid of ending
sentences with spaces? What

that sounds like? Tastes like?
And mice! Eating cheesecake!

Arranging themselves
to spell out, You stink, dude!

Then dispersing like reverb.
Then quitting without saving.

` ` ` ` `
This poem's dedication refers to Pajama Sam, namesake character from the third entry into Humongous Entertainment's edutainment point-and-click game series, "Pajama Sam 3: You Are What You Eat From Your Head to Your Feet" wherein Sam serves as diplomatic liaison between anthropomorphic foods whose society is on the verge of collapse.