Imagery

Intercourse of a sexual nature.

Goblins and firecrackers,

Cherry popsicles and effervescent souls.

The time is yesterday, the day is now.

Space, I don’t feel anymore.

This lyric might have the sad, common strangeness

that characterizes large buxom obese dwarf-women,

or

it could be a pledge to twisted imagery.

The poet embarks,

flying whales, drinking Sherry.

Pitchers at a time.

Marble porches, charades.

We be where dreams are manufactured.

This be my ode to thee.

A certain contrariety.

Alcohol or drugs.

Maybe both.

Quick mind, strange mind.

We anoint the Earth.