Asparagus Fingers In The Kitchen Of My Thimble Heart

asparagus fingers in the kitchen of my thimble heart

dedicated to, and void of autumnal bootleg scares

lost in the compass of a fallen whiskeys tree

turquoise knees sacred and soiled with the scars of an evening dress;

Alice through a looking glass

her eyes of an almond flake

with hazlenut blood kissing my spiralling dreams of inconsistant sleep;

drunk on the marching band that controls her wayward wiles

on the frozen aisles where once as strangers crossed

in search of the tarmac pony trail where once stalked a concrete skull

with a seagull moon in a flatulant state of mind;

blinded beneath the carpet of subserviant banners and qualms

calms my urge to purchase the broth as it crawls on a woodpeckers beach

golden leeks glazed with honeycomb hands with a twist of lemon spine

mimmicks the streetwise stitches as they shave my eyebrows dry;

her painted nails clawing at the pallbearers back

if not here perhaps am I some place else?

only the tallest elves will ever dare to divulge my whereabouts;