The rainbow of my shape shifts between sunshines and valleys in this cosmic horror of suburbia. Turquoise and emerald chains tether me to reality. I am a landscape of soft legacy, of marble layered in fleece layered in velvet layered in silk. Leaves fall all autumn and the royal blue of my cold nails. Music here tilts radically left and downward at 30 degrees. Least believable turtles I’d ever seen, I answered when the radicals asked for my vote with their shining semi precious revolvers. Sound initiated me into the rolling sea of the dead crashing on the mauve shores of regret.
Tag: vision
Pureed Future Tense
Ceramic cerulean blood scrapes through the veins of the aging skin of my face. My expression could strip the veneer off the 21st century. My breath is vaporized blood glistening like rubies. The violins playing in the cemetery smell like rotten verbs and pureed future tense. I pretend I am not a tangerine. No one believes me. In the violet, violent hallways of death, my silhouette bearing another like a casket.
Vision 12/22/24
Hear the blue holler of the electric cat under the full moon. Low and mournful rivers flay rocks. I have been granted a gift of visions. I will be able to be at peace with and fully connected to God. Poetry is the window. Keep the judgmental adverbs away from me. Though wilderness and wildness cloak me like fog cloaks an autumn woods, though I am thick with stars and statistics, I will reach euphoria
Miniature Moon 