Fishing With Grenades Poem by John Weber

Caravans sing my song
Despite my regressive chalk outline
Clouds wrestle mango dawn
Urging me to shed my fleshy brine
Wriggles I’ve undergone
This rustic harmonic snakes my spine

Lost beneath the city
Chasing those proud albino raccoons
Grins too vast for pity
My whole outfit has been clacking spoons
Watch my ant committee
As they spell out all my thought balloons

Motion presses with zeal
As the clock arms titter to be waved
Visions slope so unreal
Caressing the moments to be shaved
Smoke my banana peel
Gutless yellow, yet so well behaved

How’d my pocket catch fire?
Combustibles flaring from my mind
Cinders leading the choir
Tapping the time while locked on rewind
I’ll give you my sapphire
If you’ll stop smiling through that orange rind

Say you’ll offer a truce
Or those mosquitoes shall tackle me
They slow dance to seduce
Curtseying down like a cackle tree
Playing games of abuse
Riddles blazed on that neon marquis

Now that I’ve gone crazy
Potential gleams like a medallion
My brash dripping daisy
Baffled generals lead my battalion
Notions smack me hazy
Zoning aptly through my glass scallion