Author: Justin A. Curmi
I: A Cheap Flight
Floral containing sandwich-ziploc bag
of parched mind-altering substance; urging
to be inhaled through an inferno drag
while sitting on a ship — slowly merging
two hemispheres into one entity.
A Maui Wowie soothing getaway
for a solid-liquid identity;
meanwhile, lungs produce a stormy airway.
A pauper enriching vacation far
from life of modern civilization
on an illusionary lush sandbar
as dulcet ukulele elation
strums harmoniously throughout the room,
long-temporary stay in the back room.
II: Raucous and Lively Fireworks of Om
Two mil bag zip with glaring Megatron
that transforms dry dance floors to a shower
more kaleidoscopic than dingy Tron;
a midsummer fantasy with power,
and a tangible orchestra of beats.
All waiting on an eager ingestion,
which forces the palate to urge for sweets
without imposing and halting questions.
There in the grove of sensual bodies
I heard Dionysus’ warning to man,
yet the bright raining light disembodies
form from trivialities of madman
who greedily plays courtship and money;
however, unworthy in Bliss Honey.
III: A’ Picking We Go
In the Artistic Muse Athenaeum
earthly categorized shelves line the walls
as thirsty eyes survey the museum
while merrymakers pass the narrow halls
to embark on autumn explorations
towards streams of Lethe the forgetful,
which circulates throughout every nation
causing nights of Bacchus the regretful.
However, in grand vantablack blunders
the expansive void lulls confused spirits
of the: rainmakers, shamans, and hunters,
from harsh daily granulating physics
of distant computerized industry
who quickly minimizes dignity.
IV: Wintery Fairyland
Godlike snowballs waiting in gleeful hands
as noses jingle to the frosty touch
that will introduce them to godly lands
while waiting around sets of tight clutches
during radiant sounds thumbing the door,
and aphrodisiac thoughts twirl and whirl
throughout the new Victorian decor,
which invokes a lofty opulent pearl.
A succulent taste of Nietzsche’s Table,
Marx’s Owners of Creative Creation,
Age of Enlightenment’s changing playbill,
or the pinnacle of Pluto’s stations
where avaricious false deities dwell
as well as numb vermilion noses swell.
Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.