"streamers" poems
Gold crown of Olympus, hair crown and
Skin gown. First we throw our bodies at
One another. Heaping piles of human soup.
Bold maneuvers, hands and mouths and
Boy meets girl lying down, on top, intertwined.
Skittish moves on a tryst. Wet fingers of freshly
Tendered infinite decibel pleasure screams.
Streamers above a long rooting movement.
Overture of Aphrodite. Sparkling, glitter woman,
Legs pressed tightly to the chest,
Loose appendages intertwined. Intersticed dactyls
In rapture, soothing. Bodies build to one heart's beat.
Two muses fused together. If I wasn't afraid I'd wake you up
I'd slip on my shoes and make a tropical fruit fondue.
Stage two:
Ice cream lover's delight. Opus to brown sugar.
To swimming again, a pursed lurking of lips
In the academy of the pastoral commonwealth.
We eat at our stations of the sublime. Today which was
A day of discord- you nursed me back to the land of the living.
Stage three:
***
Stage four.
***
Stage five:
As we earn our pageantry to take
Stride on this Earth, and string a
Great bow of eager success among all of us,
You, me, them. While I continue to
Gaze at you. If not dinner, perhaps a
Cup of tea instead.
May 17, 2014
May 17, 2014 at 4:35 AM UTC
Métis, Themis, Ma’at, their banter was for naught.
All the tides and tithings wisdoms and their teachings, Daemonium forgot!
But the heavens cry manna as Nix cried out reprieve!
An act that loosed the flood, the chaos of her sea.
Her pain arose a champion to tend to all her needs,
Formed of Celestial Ocean he bore down on the freed.
A giant wave of madness, thrusting mist of sadness eradicating gladness... One led the ruthless breed.
Opaque in their beginning, formless shapes in twining.
Conjoined but not together, accompanied the weather.
Thalassa’s stringy tether wrapped them all forever.
Come or go in seasons, live or die in age.
No Spring to Fall in reasons, travailing of the mage?
Black tentacles the streamers, rooted into wave.
Witness the all-wise and snaking phantom phage...
Chiron watches while he prances, his dressage on the shore.
Arising liminal of beings wettened ambiguity of yore.
Even Iblis is impressed, such black rotten to the core!
Merkabah or egg, mountain, belly, tree they squabble.
All elements do I cobble, such are actions of the wobble.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
The light pollution
from the lives of little people
in the big city
reflects off the lowriding clouds,
the same way my knees reflect
in the little puddles
from the big rains.
It hurts my eyes to look up
without sunglasses,
hurts my lips to think of tasting
the subway oil that
drip
drip
drips
I speculate at the transformers,
part automatic, part people
in their pre-ripped jeans,
learning to get their Ns
to drive themselves away,
yarn trailing from their sweaters
like parade float streamers.
Citizens run so fast
to catch the early train home,
freefalling down the stairs
breathing in the exhales
of the other racer’s exhaust.
Marking their triumphs
with participation ribbons.
The pacific pants at toes,
a puppy that only occasionally misbehaves.
Impatient for attention,
waves wagging back and forth,
up the imitation river,
past the downtown.
Kicking the sea wall with it's gravity boots.
The geese are on hiatus
until they can take back the city.
Making the drains overflow,
creating their own habitat,
they’ll strut their haughty markings,
distinguished from orcas,
away from any saline nonsense.
Were we to retrain the population
to turn blind eyes,
we’d be much more efficient,
stop wasting time contending
to society’s obsession
with documenting itself.
But then, what would we do all day?
Creating light pollution
must give immediate gratification.
Once all the lights are turned off,
the influence won’t continue,
creating a lack of permanence,
making our need to be remembered
seem trivial indeed.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 1:57 AM UTC
To love a man that gives you the moon and all of the constellations,
this gift, I did not receive.
Instead, I loved a man who could create skies of jade and violet among any area of his choosing with his own bare hands.
To love a man that gives you a bouquet of twelve burgundy roses,
this gift, I did not receive.
Instead, I loved a man who could produce a field of golden pansies atop my right cheek with his own fingertips.
To love a man that gives you a kiss beneath a lantern string of lights,
this gift, I did not receive.
Instead, I loved a man who could shoot the most colorful of fireworks and streamers from the booming sound of his own voice.
To love a man that gives you a floral path from the door to a candle-lit room,
this gift, I did not receive.
Instead, I loved a man who could toss a book through the air and before it struck my skin, it would burst into pink rose petals with a clap from
the same bare hands that painted me jade and violet skies.
Mar 21, 2015
Mar 21, 2015 at 10:25 AM UTC
she rides her mountain bike
in the sun
dreadlocks fluttering behind like streamers
shes all smiles
as we come to our spot by the river
this beautiful place called fiveashes
and unpack the picnic basket
the world itself is beautiful when i'm with her
time itself loves her essence
even the graffiti looks like love letters the world
has written for her alone
theres something darkly romantic
about the nights down by fiveashes
something about thouse long miles
flying by on nightbreeze
with her hand in mine
with her lips on mine
its like a valley safe from the worlds seein
a place where naked and free we can be just we
down by fiveashes
the backseat of our buick is on fire
with her passions
and the lust in my soul
and theres something darkly romantic
about the humid warm air and how her shirt clings to her **** skin
about the songbirds opening up the mysterious day
like a gift for the dreadlock girls that shine
she lay with me tangled in her afterwards
as we watch the stars and catch our breath
i taste her on my lips
i can taste her on my soul
like shes a sunrise
rapidly banishing my life's shadows
and breathing life itself into my heart
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 4:33 PM UTC
somewhere
in this vast oasis of home
party streamers of the heart
faded stuck to the walls
pale pinks like the sinking sun
drowning in it’s own image
below the horizon
i feel that’s us
where we belong
laughing through our shame
the night calls without names
into the last party of the decades
rushed into goodtimes and struggles
flushed away into pollution
tv static nuclear radiation
here on this couch of your parents
orange and yellow
brown
from some era I can never understand
or touch
as with each moment some new invention is formed
the past is squashed
we strum along to the hum
of a world
never quite ours
but here we are
5/27/11
1258pm fri
May 27, 2011
May 27, 2011 at 12:02 PM UTC
Four days left 'till Christmas
I'm trying to get home to you
I'm in Nevada in the mountains
With the sky an eerie blue
I'm driving past my limit
Awake on pills and joe
Trying to get back cross the country
Trying to beat the coming snow
Snowflakes burst like little bombs
On my windscreen in the night
I can't see where I'm going
My blades are frozen tight
I'm driving to the image
That is fading out of sight
I'm gonna get back home for Christmas
I'm gonna help make Christmas right
Three days now till Christmas
In the Dakotas, stuck in snow
My windows frozen open
And you should hear the winter blow
I'm not stopping 'till I get there
Although you seem so far away
I'm gonna be back home for Christmas
I'll be with you on Christmas Day
Snowflakes burst like little bombs
On my windscreen in the night
I can't see where I'm going
My blades are frozen tight
I'm driving to the image
That is fading out of sight
I'm gonna get back home for Christmas
I'm gonna help make Christmas right
Two days now till Christmas
In Minnesota, freezing cold
I've drunk five thermos' full of coffee
I've put my bladder right on hold
I'm blazing through the streamers
Right through the drifts, some ten feet high
I'm driving back to you for Christmas
I'll be back home, unless I die
Snowflakes burst like little bombs
On my windscreen in the night
I can't see where I'm going
My blades are frozen tight
I'm driving to the image
That is fading out of sight
I'm gonna get back home for Christmas
I'm gonna help make Christmas right
One more day till Christmas
I've crossed the line into our state
I'll make it home to you by morning
So, Christmas breakfast...it's a date
I've driven across the country
To get back home, where I should be
I'll be there when you both wake up
Waiting by the Christmas tree
Snowflakes burst like little bombs
On my windscreen in the night
I can't see where I'm going
My blades are frozen tight
I'm driving to the image
That is fading out of sight
I'm gonna get back home for Christmas
I'm gonna help make Christmas right
Nov 17, 2013
Nov 17, 2013 at 9:50 PM UTC
Your triple crown
topped in
ice-aged white,
rises above the morning light,
breathtaking,
so majestic & tranquil.
Many have succumbed
to your magic,
to the dangerous-passion
you do satisfy.
I heard you calling,
seducing me
in an alpinista language.
Your ancient frozen voices
shoot snow streamers
into the blackened skies,
beckoning me
to take your summit,
but only if
you'll let me.
Feb 9, 2014
Feb 9, 2014 at 4:37 PM UTC
holi pigment splash on your skin. tangerine, aubergine, saffron paladins. a carousel of mourning veils in pretty pretty ruby red. decadent dancing in the streets with no regrets. whatever came the day before, i can't remember anymore. the drinks and streamers impugn disbelievers.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 4:48 AM UTC
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Seems to be a strange day
a cold in the breeze
in the months of May
screeching’s of the door
a mist at the windows
broken pane
The room was lonely
as the leaves, out whirling
a thump at the ceiling top,
rolling, shackling
like those ogling cats
for a savoring mouse
From an ominous weather
to the whispering waters
a crack brought my most
—attention
uncanny things lurking
came falling within
*I saw streamers
faking shimmers
I saw glitters
but aren't gold
I saw diamonds
yet it wasn't snow*
A strong wind gushing
hoist the storm came
toiling, warping
heaven and earth
were felonious, winced
and everything was settled
Crystal drops touching
the tender heart abrupt
shattered glass striking
a sorry won't be sought
memories engrave nothing
flagrant it is to mend
Crystal drops falling
true friends come for once,
an astral to a feeling
stalwart is to be keeping
till when, twas its end
and all of this begins again
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 10:12 AM UTC
We met here as children,
happy times,
smiles shared between friends,
love at its prime.
Everyday we meet,
streamers,
*****
crayons held high,
in our small hands,
the three of us,
no time for judgement,
no time for worry,
far too many adventures to be had,
underneath this apricot tree.
The meetings grow infrequent,
we meet here as acquaintances,
we meet here as lovers,
knife for the carving of flesh and bark,
dreams of brighter days,
days obscured by a terrestrial haze,
we love,
we hate,
we grow,
we regress,
under this apricot tree.
Years pass,
the meetings are infrequent,
the successful no longer indulge,
there are only two of us left,
we meet as strangers under summer sky,
cursing God for death,
estrangement,
birth,
divorce,
broken,
realizations,
invention,
convention,
peace,
understanding what love is,
so clear now,
how did we get this far,
underneath this apricot tree?
They meet here as children,
they meet as friends,
in its truest sense,
running,
pushing,
playing,
the days get lighter,
the sun a little brighter,
grazing fresh skin,
sun-kissed lullabies,
the toys are different,
but the game is the same,
underneath this apricot tree.
We meet here as children,
laying underneath our tree,
nostalgia feels our lungs,
the feeling is familiar,
but the landscape is inverted,
we love,
we hate,
we grow,
we regress,
estrangement,
birth,
divorce,
broken,
realizations,
invention,
convention,
peace,
running,
pushing,
playing,
everyday we meet,
streamers,
*****
crayons held high,
in our small hands,
the three of us,
our children with us,
we meet here as one,
underneath this apricot tree.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 1:38 PM UTC
All you folks in paper hats,
You think paper's where it's at.
Paper suits and paper ties,
Don't you know that paper lies?
Paper silver, paper gold,
Paper's bought and paper's sold.
Does paper have any worth?
It's just a tree cut from the earth.
Your god is Almighty Paper,
Presidents are your deal makers...
Paper lions, paper hearts,
In the end they're torn apart.
Paper tigers, paper souls,
Punch them and they're full of holes.
Paper masks and paper streamers,
All you are are paper dreamers.
Whatever happened to your returns?
Don't you know that paper burns?
Some CEO's are thieves and liars,
Out there startin' forest fires!
Where's the nest egg of older folk?
Their retirement's up in smoke!
Greed is what we're talkin' here,
And all it is is paper fear.
"Will I keep up? Is mine the best?"
They're just kids in paper vests.
*"If you don't leave my paper alone,
I'll just take my paper home..."*
Paper boats and paper toys,
For paper girls and paper boys,
Paper backs and paper chase,
'Fraid you'll lose the paper race?
Paper masks and paper schemers,
All you are are paper dreamers.
Deep inside, your spirit screams!
There's no substance to your dreams!
All you are is dust and spit?
H2O and dirt...That's it?
Don't you feel that *hole inside?
Put away your paper pride!*
What will happen when you die?
When you find it's all a lie?!
You know I'm telling you the truth.
You've wasted your life,
you've lost your youth.
If you've a question, why not ask it?
Just more paper for your basket?
Magazines, newspapers, what's in print?
More paper for the Treasury's mint?
C'mon people! Lets get real!
This is **not Let's Make A Deal!!**
Door #1, or 2, or 3?!!!
Is that how you deal with ETERNITY?
You'd better be sure you're on the dime,
Cuz eternity's a long, LONG time.
Paper wings? Or paper veils?
Paper heads, or paper tails?
Keep life in a paper cup?
Guess what?
Your time is UP.
SoulSurvivor
Catherine Jarvis
(C) March 8, 2009
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 6:58 PM UTC
Tell me, Gentlemen:
while you soared higher than your fears and dreams could ever reach, into the blue crystal infinity,
did you hear the voices of angels echoing off the wings of geese migrating south for the winter?
how did it feel,
fighting for a nation that measured your worth in disheveled water fountains, mop buckets, dust rags, and potato peelings,
defending stars and stripes stained with the same molten white abhorrence smeared on ******** bombers?
did it hit you like a G force?
when you climbed into that cockpit, audaciously red, the blood rushing to your head, was it bitter hand fulls of cherries sweet?
when you returned home through back doors and alleyways to face an Uncle Sam with burning crosses in his eyes,
when you stood curbside at your own homecoming parade feeling confetti and streamers tickle the bridges of your noses,
tell me how it felt, Gentlemen.
will my brothers and sisters who fight only for tennis shoe wealth, understand the worth of those medals on your scarlet blazers?
if I listen hard enough to those jets breaking the sound barrier will I hear your story?
tell me, Gentlemen,
what was it like to fly?
infinite respects,
Curlie Fries Mcgee
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 8:06 AM UTC
I don't like to celebrate my birthday
I don't celebrate my birthday.
What is there to celebrate?
My existence is stained in accident and I don't need to be given purpose in rubber balloons, and paper streamers, and cheap wax candles.
My birthday feels like a date that's begging and pleading for someone to acknowledge that I'm alive, and I don't want to have to pretend to be.
I don't want to be thankful for stupid gifts that are brought on by obligation and I don't want to smile when I hear "happy birthday" come off your lips. I'm not happy.
My birth is just a day. A mistaken date, an accidental date, a victimized date that had to bear my name being attached to it like I'm of some significance to the calendar. Like I'm of some significance to time.
Time that will also be one more year closer to death which is just as unbearable because it's confirmation of my accidental, mistaken, existence. It's the stamp that says "she shouldn't have been breathing in the first place". Don't date my tombstone.
Its uncomfortable for me to celebrate my birthday.
I'm not trying to be depressing, or pitiful, or too "deep" about things BUT this is just a fact. A statement. An acceptance in my life. A way things are kind of feeling. Permanent.
So don't tell me I'm thinking about it all wrong and to be more positive. That people love me and are happy I'm alive and want me to know that. That's a bunch of ******** If you loved my existence you wouldn't need to express that to me in chocolate icing, and blow horns, and confetti bits. I'm not pitiful. Birthdays are just a pitiful excuse for you to make my existence more about living for you. A debt for your "kindness" at throwing me a party. A debt for your "thoughtfulness" because of that expensive gift you bought with me in mind. A debt for your "love".
That's what I mean when I say simply, " I don't want to be 19".
Mar 1, 2014
Mar 1, 2014 at 8:31 PM UTC
Bright cap and streamers,
He sings in the hollow:
Come follow, come follow,
All you that love.
Leave dreams to the dreamers
That will not after,
That song and laughter
Do nothing move.
With ribbons streaming
He sings the bolder;
In troop at his shoulder
The wild bees hum.
And the time of dreaming
Dreams is over -- -
As lover to lover,
Sweetheart, I come.
2.4k
*A room full of dancing balloons
Colorful streamers floating at the walls
Flowers waltzing in their vases
A Birthday cake stands
Stately in the middle of the table
With the candied words
Written in the middle:
Happy Birthday, Sweet Cinderella!
Confetti flies through the air
And harps play for you
Loudly with their
Angelic beauty
And cellos never before
Sounded so happy
As they ring out
Across the room
And the piano
Laughs and
Is
Merry
**********
Presents are being opened
Tissue papers rustle
And wrapping paper torn
Gift bags full of merry surprises
And fun
The Birthday Girl smiles
And is surprised at each
Gift
********
*Next come the games
There are so many kinds
Brand new toys
And bubbles
That look like
Sparkling pastel
Rainbows with
Glittering rain
Then comes the sad part
Of her friends leaving
How she hates to say "goodbye"
And watch her friends wave
And drive away
Back to home*
~Marian~
Apr 13, 2013
Apr 13, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
~~
All you folks in paper hats
You think paper's where it's at.
Paper suits and paper ties...
... don't you know that paper LIES?
Paper silver, paper gold,
Paper's bought, and paper's sold.
Does paper have ANY worth?
It's just a tree cut from the earth!
Your god is almighty Paper...
... The Presidents are your deal makers.
Paper lions, paper hearts,
In the end they're TORN APART...
Paper tigers, paper souls,
Punch them and they're
FULL OF HOLES...
Paper masks, paper streamers,
All you are are
PAPER DREAMERS.
Whatever happened to your returns?
Don't you know that paper BURNS?
Some CEOs? Thieves and LIARS!
Out there starting FOREST FIRES!
Where's the nest egg of older folk?
Their investment's up in SMOKE!
Greed is what we're talking here,
And all it is is paper FEAR...
"Will I keep up? Is mine the best...?"
They're just KIDS in paper vests!
"If you don't leave my paper alone...
... I'll just take my paper HOME!!!"
Paper boats and paper toys
For paper girls and paper boys...
Paper rats and paper chase,
'Fraid you'll lose the paper race?
Paper masks and paper schemers,
All you are are
PAPER DREAMERS.
Deep inside your spirit SCREAMS!
There's no substance to your dreams!
All you are is dust and spit?
H2O and dirt... that's it?
Don't you feel that hole inside?
Put away your paper pride!
What will happen when you die,
When you find it's all a LIE...
You KNOW I'm telling you the TRUTH.
You've wasted your life,
You've lost your youth!
If you've a question, why not ask it?
Just some more paper for your basket?
Magazines, newspapers, what's in print?
More paper for the treasury's mint?
C'mon people! Let's get real!
This is NOT "Let's Make a Deal"!!!
Door #1 or 2 or 3...
Is that how you deal with
ETERNITY???!!!
Better be sure you're on the dime,
'Cuz eternity's a long... L O N G.... TIME.
Paper wings or paper veils?
Paper heads or paper tails...
... keep life in a paper cup?
Guess what?
Your
time
is
Mar 2, 2014
Mar 2, 2014 at 3:06 PM UTC
Greased wheels, I knew you once.
I loved to balance like a child.
Roaming the paved streets; riding is like flying.
I knew you when the store held you back.
I chose you from behind handlebars with purple streamers.
Your tires silently carried me to classes,
each brake stop signaled that we were close to our arrival.
I sat on your worn black seat like I was on a throne of sorts.
Even though that seat is tattered with one rip on the side,
all I saw in you was my own **** pride.
Spokes, I knew you once.
I played your tune each journey that we went on.
No hill was ever tall enough, no road was ever too bumpy.
Gears, I knew you once.
Click, Lock, Click
sometimes you were tight and never let me ride
sometimes you were loose and my feet went flying ‘round too fast for me to catch
what you were doing.
I knew you once, when time was young.
Oct 15, 2015
Oct 15, 2015 at 8:46 PM UTC
the little white basket
with the pink and yellow daisy
bobbles along,
as the streamers on the handlebars
flutter in the wind.
"wheeeeeee!" she cries,
and i am ashamed because i forgot -
it's supposed to be fun.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
Titanic
****** berth, she stands,
Maiden stream deflowering the
sunlight.
Immense furore along the dock.
Streamers, banners, brass bands.
Herald the beginning of
the end.
Magnificent and stately,
There she stands, a glory to behold.
Pomp and splendour,
Wealth with greed,
All set to sail the seven seas.
A dream of life,
A life of dreams
Splendour of their own,
Scrambling ice mountains, glisten
Shining a fateful allure to a frozen death
A stern captain,
Calm, dignified,
Guides the ship of dreams unto her nightmare,
“Astern”, he cries, unheard through
muffled joy….
Crunching, crashing, listing,
A myriad of smashing crystal,
Destined for the deep,
Air thick with screams of terror,
Young, old, rich, poor,
All scared.
Mortified corpses float,
Water littered with deceased,
While the living dead look on.
Hope’s dashed,
Time dies silently.
Carpathian angel,
Saviour of souls,
God spoke,
Their souls were saved!
Livvi Kent 2012
[email protected]
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC
disconnected daydreamer,
party lights and streamers,
blockin' out the screamers,
grasping onto my femur.
i'm really real,
still alive & kickin'
not eatin' chicken
i'm strong as steel.
Jun 11, 2012
Jun 11, 2012 at 4:58 PM UTC
A Sunday and she will not eat
cabbage brew
or the plethora of stale mush
stuffed within
her trusty rusty biscuit tin
even tea stained
and netted dishcloths wane
like fossil flies
on toffee streamers that were baptized
with gravey drips
of the Irish stew from her whitewashed crypt
and papal’s sprogg
plays housies with the dog
we keep shtum .
When threadbare ears are in the room
cull the conversation cull
Go Moe less scale, leather hull
until our hallowed family makes
familiar curiosity and lemon cakes
she’s broke down so give her a push
Maybe ninety two.
It’s Monday and she will not eat.
May 18, 2013
May 18, 2013 at 10:42 PM UTC
Take me on a plane to your heart.
I want to get out & celebrate
Your hand in mine.
Time steadily ticks down, our emotions
Attentive streamers and banners
That shout welcome.
I stayed up all night like a child.
Anticipating the feel of something new,
The rush of being around you.
My fearless dream of you,
Curiously you.
Take me on a plane to your heart.
Your peace of mind, your cloud in the sky.
Somewhere that I’ve never been.
I feel so small when I am next to you,
But not in an insurmountable way.
I get a chance to see how much of a difference
That you’ve made.
Next time that you go,
Or at least consider.
Take me with you in the experience
That no one will know but you & I.
To be happy and belong to a part
Of you always & discover how many
Times I’ve looked at you and deeply
Appreciate the parts of you I am just now seeing.
How beautifully breathtaking,
No matter how big, there is still plenty
To discover & plenty of flights we could schedule.
No matter where we journey,
No matter how small.
Take me on a plane to your heart,
I only ask, that we take the scenic route
Jul 21, 2021
Jul 21, 2021 at 4:30 PM UTC
I should shut up soon, zip up
My mouth and hack my pen
Maybe I can stay with orange
Ink and licit words spread
All over the place. You bet.
Get me some poison Iago!
Forest and its men; ***
‘Underdeveloped illiterate pigs’
"Fish! We need development
**** it all, one by one and make-
A main streamers committee"
Get me some poison Iago!
I should soon quit voting
If am ordered to ink my nail for
A caste, a religion or a loser
Maybe I should vote, but
There's a shoot at sight notice.Oops.
Get me some poison Iago!
DIG-IT-ALl? Total babe!
Let’s talk about empowerment
And a survey on farmer’s suicide
But no new-generation
“mushy mushy”, save our culture
Get me some poison Iago!
I should stop eating as well,
Cook books unavailable, animals
Went back to temples ****
I really have a bad taste for
Green-lush-healthy-vegetables
Get me some poison Iago!
“Get inside, get inside”
Set an alarm and get inside
“Cover up, cover up”
Never dream an opening up
“Rapists are rapping out there”
Get me some poison Iago!
We are DEMO-crazy! Hell yea!
Where is my salvation?
Killer idea sirji! Killer idea!
***** tonight?”
“Hang up. Someone’s knocking”
Get me some poison Iago!
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 12:15 PM UTC
Spinning on a top of color;
The balloons are inflated in the desk,
and the rainbow streamers gave me a paper-cut.
I thought the red make-up was blood.
Running and jumping up and down
on a box of inflatable candy,
that turned my lips purple and blue.
My dad thought it was lipstick,
so he gave me an old ***** magazine.
When the animals morphed into balloons,
I petted them with grass stuck to my hand.
And POP! – goes the poodle,
in the parking lot next to the splattered juice cups.
My friend cried and wiped his eyes with icing
as a clown grinned, showing his orange teeth
that was the same color of the cheese-curls in the bowl,
that the three year-old just poured into the kiddy pool.
I got lost in the ball-pit.
I remember every color, then nothing;
Gray had became the fun
to a depressed clown wishing he’d got the hang
of life’s circus.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 1:53 PM UTC