there's a clown with a
neon green mouth
performing tricks in my front yard -
Bluebeard wearing a tutu
teetering on an ice cube -
two of Aesop's pixies dueling with
sugar sticks while telling
knock-knock jokes to an acorn -
and
an orange whale doing backflips
into a sea of honey -
it's raining again...
melting hues of flourescant green, blue
and orange intermingle with
pointed ears and a blowhole erupting
into a gooey golden stream
of fanciful laughter
halcyon fantastic licking the toes of
a martyr - seventeen virgin midgets
on a nepalese shag rug eating Teddy Grahams
from the skull of Haile Salasie -
grass of the border doing the
tango to the unique meanderings of the
cataclysmic calypso band from Mercury,
fresh legs and worn wings abound -
a kiddie pool full of menstral blood
and sharks with tails for strings - Lestat
in a lounge lawn chair at the side with
a straw, wearing Tommy Jeans and CK1 -
ghandi cooking burgers and dogs
on the industrial-sized Foreman by the
hedgerow of eucalypus fauna -
a bear playing chess with a donkey
while Orwell watches on - Machiavella
in the corner trellace pretending he was
dead by listening to Michael Bolton songs
and watching Survivor on a small
106 inch Hitatchi - a kuala shifty-eying
that yummy yummy hedgerow -
( nobody invited the kuala! ooohhhh...)
the duke of laissais faire relaxing in
an easy chair reading Marx and sipping
motor oil from a Greenpeace cozy -
Fitzgerald and Descartes throwing lawn
jarts into the prickled air - the wind
blowing Telly Savalis's hair up into
a vortex of chittering elephants cycloning
the New Hampshire atmosphere even...
(those GODDAMN kualas!) ... though New Hampshire
closed it's doors 17 years ago and had
a going out of business sale peopled by
muskrats wearing the suit of the troubadour -
the clown with the the neon grin
had shackled Bluebeard with Cheerios
and was repeatedly assaulting his head region
with a giant Nerf Marlin out of the Hemingway
Collection - the old pirate's feet
coldened by ice, yet his dignity
unaffected by the tutu - Aesop
galliantly cheering his tales
while Ayn Rand tried to make off with
the party trays and a small shred of
respect - ursine flowers sprinkled
lavender moments over the melee, their
twinkling eyes like orbs of flowing
lava twisting through the veins of
a prophecy - a band of chanting monks
laying a beat and a scratch to their religion
and hitting the charts while Rick Dees
interviews Bishop Desmond on the plaster-covered
veranda - marching ants whispering death-threats
to the brownie cakes and one lonely drunken wasp
swerving through the air abuzz
screaming slurs at the Catholic priest
sitting on the treestump posed like
Rodan's 'Thinker' - the melted hues of
laughter bringing rain again to
the scene - Diana Ross is on the
pagoda singing the Friends theme song
with Ben Vereene - as the grouping
shifts it paraphrase upon the lamenting
of the yesterdays - the crackling surge
of Curie's hope laying on the plush -
while J. Robert Oppenheimer rapes it's
worthy trust - yet pinks and lights
permeate the pall of this here part -
just think about that neon clown
performing at the start - all the
quests of wonder and the funniness
of in between - all the spinning
blunders of the fantasies we dream -
i wake upon the lunacy of a lucid pot of stew -
nothing in this world or any
other can distract me
from you.
Birth sign: Scorpio
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by madison.