He once said, "I'm either here or there."

I hired a part-time echo, It answers for me. I say, "How are things?" — it says, "Great," While I sit there crying into my slipper. My umbrella retired to Sochi; It’s growing tangerines and rain there now. I call it: "I need you, it’s raining," But it says: "I’ve earned my rest, brother—buy a new one." Atlantis has taken up residence in my beard; Words I’ve forgotten swim around in there. I fish them out with tweezers in the morning And put them in a jar labeled "for later." My slipper went into politics; It’s now a deputy representing the left foot. It promises everyone warmth and softness, But it’s retreated to the right corner and stays silent. I bought a Tuesday at a sale; It turned out to be defective—full of Wednesdays. I returned it, but they gave me a Wednesday instead, And Wednesday smells like someone else’s socks. An aquarium has settled in my eye; A fish named "Not Now" lives there. I feed it crumbs of hope, But it keeps floating to the surface belly-up. My fridge went on a drinking binge; Now it only freezes my tears. I tell it: "Come on, I’ll change my ways," But it says: "Too late—I’m in love with your emptiness." I tried to become the wind, but it didn't work; I got tangled up in my own trousers. I had to return to my body and my bed And pretend I had nothing to do with it. A talking gas appeared in my kitchen; It told me: "You think too much." I agreed and opened the window, And together we flew out through the vent. All in all, things are stable—just as they should be; It’s just that "should be" let me down a bit. I sit here counting the days until Friday, But Friday is a myth for those who wait.