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

           toast

           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

          hated

          the laziest worker

          on the construction

          site

          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.