Aired Butterflies
The number between
one and three
enjoined flames
who cast their lines
not today but another
locked the part below their sneezers
birds flew up the staircase
crust encased bones less than dry
not an earthquake
but cone of hotness
spewed milk ashes
dashed sprinting
into the aired butterflies.
Frigid Inheritance (JumbleTongue)
A transparent crystalline solid,
monarch of the state..
Feminine, frosty legacy,
vaulted for protection and display.
Heritage polished flawlessly,
raw, numb without dismay.
This glazed persona,
guarded and bombarded,
rumored preservation tactics,
draped in jewels, cashmere fabrics.
Tragic is this tale of rimed birthright,
forever classic in its own light.
[Ice Queen]
#40, in jumbletongue
hive-minds solo-hoard thinks
the in-outs of caged life-tickers
of shadows in the dark
light sees
the gear tooth
stands with many as teeth,
and lock-walks circle-stairs’
breath for brain-fire
-M.E.
original is a blackout poem by me as well:
http://41.media.tumblr.com/e5c81cc3823a740c8c577c8b47266eaf/tumblr_nc1t24ol2B1sqrt6ko1_1280.jpg
burning blonde (jumble tongue)
we were Akron yellow
like tobacco field,
caturra teeth.
our tongues bleeding,
drowning porcelain pieces
in pep and stink
swallowing life down the
ice shoot
air is natural
like this is not recreational
lung reflexes
involuntarily
bending this backwards
because we are burning up
and too much blonde
is not enough.