Monday, August 26, 2013

PULSE by Brenton Booth

I am a pretzel

          a flagpole
          an invisible sunset
          at midday
I am a broken down periscope
          an albino crocodile
          a mouse eaten cloth
          on a sofa
I am afternoon detention in
           E block
           a dried out piece of
           a summer dolphin
           cruising on the
           winter tides
I am a phony
          an invisible murderer
          the last cube in
          the glass  
I am the one your mother
          the laziest worker
          on the construction
          the unsigned signature
I am the shrunken dido
          the one who can’t
          seem to forget
          the centuries blunt blade
                                             while the 
                                  moon faced women
                                dance on dry autumn
                               streets and the melting
                      police fire hysterical automatics
                            into ripe cinnamon clouds
                       the paper mache cars languidly
                      seep through the uncertain holes
                           in the ground and my eyes
                              have finally turned into
                                great rivers of smoke.

Author bio: 

Brenton Booth resides in Sydney, Australia. Work of his has been printed in a variety of journals, most recently Boyslut, Unlikely Stories, Mind(less) Muse, Scissors & Spackle, 3:AM Magazine, Pyrokinection, Commonline Journal, Dead Snakes, Yellow Mama, and Storm Cycle.

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