Tomato Tulips


I like to picture you in a torn-up kimono

Dehydrated flowers in your new blue hair

The toothpick belt we made on Gluten-Free day

is cinched high around your 19th-century waist


You linger now near the rifle rack, spinning tops

on our GE Wildcat, solid state stereo


Stub your toe on a Paris curb, blood kisses fly

Punch your face while sleeping, blood kisses fly

Water the garden no underpants, blood kisses fly


Tulips have grown together with your tomatoes

since the deviant craft fair of September 2008

They came from the fertilizer shotgun syringe

my entry into the Projectile Weapons category

after Slay Gorgon’s impregnation attempt of Sally

went south, covering your tomatoes with seed shot


I often picture the petals curling under their weight

The fairies danced bare-knuckled, high on torchlight

You brought them forth as a chuckle for the kids

You spun tops, made from Mryia Jackalope’s heart


The fairies, born to follow, stamped and collided

Enthralled by your heady music and promises of a feast

their jolly leaps, grand l’aire to a jete´, turned violent

toes were stubbed, faces punched, blood kisses flew


We hoed their lithe bodies into the newly turned soil

standing adjacent to the long rows of tomato tulips

You threw pigeon wings to Walter the White rabbit

Slay and Sally bowed and excused themselves, dedans


K. Shawn Edgar | Writer | Humorist | Fixed Gear 45×17


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