Bizarre Floors
A surrealism poem
The first floor of abrupt shaking ballerinas in pointe,
turning excessively to the beat of
the sonic boom, exploding anything valuable.
The second is filled with blue geese, invading
the room of chicken curry, flooding the entire landscape.
Meanwhile, the fifth has hoards of screaming pigs
wanting the flesh of the humans’ skin,
raw and poisonous.
Jumping tigers cry out to the lovers of bread
on the seventh floor.
Binding waves of angels herding together,
dancing in misery on the
eleventh floor.
Saints and nuns worship the glorious apple pie,
stuffed with angst and uncertainty on the fifteenth.
Lovers that feast the grey fur of tongues, spiraling
out to capture the virgin eyes on the sixteenth.
The nineteenth hunger thirsting one’s eyes on the wooden tiles of
prickling thorns, thawing out the foreskin
of the dead.
Various hands of molten rock, igniting into
pieces of the corps on the twentieth floor.
The twenty-third-floor deals with the caressing of the devil, suffocating kittens into a mix of morphine and sweet acid.
I smell the distance of the ecstasy in her aroma,
the way her walk damages the lungs raptures the brand
new flowers on the thirtieth.
These tensions on the thirty-fifth floor of the coarse walls, the sensual
sensation burning the blind ones.
Yet, the thirty-ninth is combusted in the horror of
sexual diaries, flocking all over the
tiny mediocre cloudy skies.
