Umbrellas That Smoke in the Soup

Umbrellas that smoke in the soup
of a clock face pulled from the bone by a mirror.

Like the throat of a vase used for bunches of screwdrivers
that lift up an electric circuit to find a delta of rust
about to complete a cycle of life.

Like a cathode ray tube fitted into a skull
left in an armchair where a fuse is shattered
by the femur of a beanbag girl with a bright cranium.

Like feathers fallen from a gold slide rule jammed
into the mouth of a transformer

I was dressed in blue asbestos
by the girl who trips over a spanner
as she moves into the corner of a room

Author: blackbird212012

I am interested in multimedia work: songwriting, art, and creative writing. I have been involved also in theatre and music performances.

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