What the hell was This all About?

Palabra Barroucho:

An intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon,
The arrow of the fly split thusly.
The earthworm sighed in eloquent malcontent.
Bee tears dampened silken flowers of yore.
The heart explodes in ionic turbulence
The cat purrs in Latin with undertones of Greek.
His throat rumbles with passion, gasping for air
The mouse scurries as the bee dives for fur.
The glass set empty on the windowsill, unnoticed and wistfully benign.
Feline wonder turns liquid anger as the bee drowns in the cosmic glass of woe.
The cat shit on the rug.
The mauve pigmented waste lies on shaggy fabric of time.
The milestone was tomorrow's intent as the moon bowed his head in silver
solemnity.
The cat, the bee and the mouse built a house of profundity,
adding sand, flowers and cheese.
More concrete foundations should have had lasting implications.
Cheese molded to blue, flowers wilted to stew and the sand was filled with shit.

Blue Room

Blue Room

Wildlife flickers above the fan.
A humming bird approaches.
A plane lands on the wall.
A lace wedding cake flutters in the breeze.

Buddha appears with light and stone.
Ashes surround the pagoda.
A book and a father lay waiting.
The fame of love is framed
above a door’s encryption.
A camel prances with a prince and a woman.
Flowers are mistaken.
A change of season brings armies and storms.

A tall thin bookcase holds
a Moroccan rug down.
An Italian bed holds up the dog and pillows.
The TV is blind without birds.
Tiny life takes over.
A thousand calls of night paint the mood.

Thin caskets of words and sound
slide into frames.
Neon sculptures dip down from the ceiling.
A hum of blades disturb the throat.
Hands tilt upwards.
Nothing can be said that is news.

A corner is filled with mosaic nakedness.
Santa sits near a fairy and a beer
above a steeple in a bookshelf of dreams.
A folding angel hovers over flowers
and a sweet but angry man.
Kleenex unfolds and catches.

The pink column of myth and wood
supports air and possibilities.
A tree lamp grows under mirrors.
A woman meditates, floating.
Her breast wears hats from many lands.
Her crotch is laid with red tile.

Moths thump the beaded sameness
of a hat framed lamp.
A purple dragon across the room
shines with amethyst eyes.
Bugs and the dog fade as soon
as light turns inward.

A change of season brings armies and storms.
A thousand calls of night paint the mood.
Nothing can be said that is news.