The Things That Should Be

Doves flock to industrial parks, fluttering plumes of oily feathers while perky mice skitter amongst pipes and poles,

Dazzling azure sardines gripped firmly in petite chops.

Daffodils grin in the winter, while angelfish slip through Sahara sands.

Peacocks sun themselves by an oasis mirage, fanning their feathers at the desert masquerade.

Sandmen sprinkle sleeping dust on baby rats, as they curl up in lunar craters.

Lasses juggle freshly ripe heads, as brains still glop from their clacking jaws.

Lads scale rainbows, feet sinking to faraway lands.

Kittens prowl toward midnight, as they groan a haunting tune, illuminated by rubber lampposts.

A parade of scorpions shimmy up a pyramid wall, planted with fresh glass tiles.

Seraphs play poker by a lake of diamond, crystal serpents waiting with patient stares.

Eagles soar with devils, aflight with lead balloons.

Babes lay in wait for their specter mums to whisk them away.

Teak skin boots graze a stairway of teapots as it ascends to the heavens.

Ants march with twig spears, hunting the protozoa that threaten them so.

The ceiling of a three walled temple is grated with stapled skins, lit aflame by curious shrooms.

Mother Earth feasts on barley and rye, braiding malicious weeds.

The deep sea hides a butterfly, shifting in a coral cocoon.

A plank of ice stretches over the black, licking the wounds of injured paintings.

Artists sing poetry in the maze of steel; folk and blues unite.

Dolls establish tea parties under a green sky, swinging plastic legs over blue grass,

As the things that should be.