"Imagination Restaurant"
A toy for bread will juice the lunar escape by the gravity for music.
I will play into my skin or raise the tree’s role like a poll for the sick.
Heavens in the dorm will paint the pupils by sight and frame.
Lurking shadows sweeten around my bend with curves to tame.
A thought’s exhaustion turns my table toward the doom of wicked thumbs.
Outside of my bedroom, an owl’s eye is a stranger to Arabic gum.
This ink sizzles to days, to nights it bleeds.
The chants of my money will slow the needs.
Think of a piano’s speech from its tickled bones.
Elephants chew the gardens with a nose for moans.
I eat the hole and watch the grave.
My ancestors are younger with more to save.
Wisdom teeth are dripping with the blood of spices today.
I shower myself with grocers to go way.
*A schizophrenia poem with lurid ideas. I was sick.
**Photo Attribution: By Michel Wolgemut, Wilhelm Pleydenwurff (Text: Hartmann Schedel) (scan from original book) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
No comments:
Post a Comment