along the lines of a see-saw

pantry sounds ascend on waves of the snare
who knows all along it is a symbol
intended as a stand-in for the chef
plunged to the eyeballs in a mad scramble

from which smoke bomb shouts
like a drunk in lurch –
and obsessively turning over leaves
as the bay is a vanished mystery

but maybe cardamom will have to do,
except stampeding prints absent sandals
stamped on the steps that end in the cellar.
The cardamom too escaped with the bay.

Meanwhile, lounging on a lily pad,
was a fat green frog – true, a toad agent
did try to goad that day’s scenery boss
to perhaps consider an inward look,

like maybe within these works in these worlds
such a fat frog need not hog marquee names,
but this agent for the toads only bugged
that day’s scenery boss as this agent

for the toads always bugged every boss
of each day’s scenery supervision.
And as always the fat green frog sputtered
mushy fly parts that yet clung to the lips.


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
This entry was posted in poetry, streamy, surreal and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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