Galactic Soup

Her violet pupils are set in yellow bloodshot eyes
this witch with dragon of pink and soft little scales
that looks at backwards feet.
It smiles as pencil curved eye brows do stretch.
Her soupy brew is steamy and ghostly.

Antenna fish with red lips and body gaps are hungry
swimming through seas of citric acid storms.
They fall into swirls of mixed kumquats,
acorns and jelly beans— moving slowly round and round
with yellow and red pan cakes, that spiral stacked on top of
red, blue, orange, and green alien predators.

Worm trails lead her to brown icky worms
in a squiggle, and she plays her tick the tack and toe.
With planets as her markers she knows
that ether links will grow like trees in her yard
—it’s all a dessert that grows infinitely.

All the shadows are like the hands of ghouls
that sit at crooked mushroom tables
while square raccoons do roll and laugh
with their noses of blue and pointed heads
they cannot hear through egg yuk filled ears.

All the while a candy candle with stripes
of blue, red and yellow burn on the edge
of her factory filled with yellow-greenish doughnuts
and pastries of all sorts and a xylophone window
that has in it green tulips painted
with purple foliage now grown of her very own blood
that was drawn soon after the Rubik’s cube frustration
she threw outside and into a moat with jelly beans

—they float and she tries to catch them
with a green ring on a string and drags them
in for more exciting a stew to feed all things
as the planets are viewed revolving the yard.

She lays herself in a coffin, gazing,
it is lined with old and scratched records
—now ready to slide herself
into the spell of her universal brew
reaching to add—khakis cacti thorns.