Technicolor Poet

Pooping ice cubes
in volcanic sands,
melts tornado mints
on etch-a-sketched lands

Bands of wired butterflies,
fly out ringing ears.
New year’s explosions,
diving toilet engineers.

Twisted intestines,
shaped into a poodle.
Eaten with chopsticks,
like sushi and noodle

Technicolor gardens,
of heaven and hell.
The spell of a poet,
spit from inks well.

4 FEEDBACKS

  1. katy says:

    okay, i haven’t read the whole poem yet, but the first two lines made me laugh intensly. like a little kid at school when someone farts.

    i’ll read the rest now…

  2. Travis says:

    hehehe! Yes, “Pooping ice cubes” are recycled words which alone, inspired me to write the poem!

  3. Glenn says:

    Ahh A poet with fire in his belly.. nice to see. I particularly liked the last two lines :-)
    Cheers
    Glenn

  4. Travis says:

    Thank you Glenn!

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