little flower science

little flower science
by cerebella
lavender storm.
pink rockets in my prayer whistles
little rock lava babies
eroded from red to a squeal
of winking and and e.z bake ovens
surfing the lathered shampoo of
the shore’s mouth.
ready to learn how to swim in the
taste of the guppies belch-bubbles.
elvis plants orchids.
there is a green light.
there is a green light.
he dreams to curtsy nightly while he
smothers his nose in your hair
if he wants to, in the reflection of
the televisions perpetual blank stare.
circumstantial vine tangle.
i can guess the taste of watercolours
while the rain drops your blues into
the gutter below my doorway
they trap them in critter cages
and let them fly into the day
where night will wolf down the
sun and the stars will burst in the
light pollution disguising the
saucers crescendo singing
alien flutes.
the shoeshine of the inevitable rose.
she dreamt of slitting her own green ponytail.
her jealously of movement developed into a
disappearing act.
those
who are able to blush the
spinster bar-codes off their cheeks
rosiest acne palettes are not
my friends, they are spineless
sickened conformist sisters.
sunflower’s pixie pirouette.
thrown into the bedroom window
a sunset sitting on either
side of your collar.
fading away
far away, worn out
by the field trips of
bloom’s busy schedule
daisy works black magick on a stripper’s pole.
a diamond polka-dotted shark
stalks thru the jagged bench
seats made of space junk
he rinses these disco balls
on the posture of seahorses.
he is constantly losing things
swimming around the sky
trying to remember what he was looking for
in the first place
destroy this path’s backside
while we hurry to my raptures
three-chord teenager.
behavioural patterns work the quilt
of my teeth
dangling into
my legs
respective
membrane pods.
lily of the virus.
break-dance marathon, swallowed
by the guillotine’s blades triple shadow
stewing little bits of my hypnosis, they’re
black and grey tats screeching their nails
down car-honks from down the throat of a
tongueless memory of another
happy-house city,
dreamt from the hidden
places in my
chest
he is immune to gravity
he feels his heart howl to the
man on the moon they
both see his face
beneath a masquerade of
wanderlust
go, blue flower.
i am still the window’s widow
the gooey mock-leopard print,
slimy on my
mostly chewed sill; where
hands creep in to
smear juvenile diabetes
all over
my walls germ-colony
hidden underneath
the five hundred coats of paint
bejeweled, pink was the pioneer
since before i was born…
whithering dandelion out-burst.
…before i was born
i dreamt of thunderous cloud-choke
and i thought of electric shocks
shedding off another layer of skin
off my leaking heart
&her one-day palpitations
oozing out of the fragile paper
in slow sticky movement
stuck in autopilot, too
erratic against the turtle
against the hare
against pill-less sleep
i began to know
there was nothing more real
to poke at me with a needles rejection.
let’s beg the sky for protection,
let’s drizzle our mouths into it.
black eyed susan’s black eye.
the point of not sinning
or even better,
why we consistently fail all over
societies negligence to
set standards for any of us
disturbing the peace
while we keep living lucid
nightmares down the rabbit hole of
daydream consumption