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.
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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…
hehehe! Yes, “Pooping ice cubes” are recycled words which alone, inspired me to write the poem!
Ahh A poet with fire in his belly.. nice to see. I particularly liked the last two lines :-)
Cheers
Glenn
Thank you Glenn!