Poem written by The Real Cie and Writing Sister Opal Zushaquon for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads and NaPoWriMo. There is no official Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Camp post this month, as we are participating in NaPoWriMo. However, you are welcome to follow all the weird and depressive poetry along the way at poetryofthenetherworld.blogspot.com and starrydemons.tumblr.com
Lady in search of peppermint
And sweetmeat
Instead found eyeballs
And rattlesnake hamburger
When she followed the fireflies
To the moonlight schoolhouse
Where the supergiant throwbacks skateboard
She was seeking homemade popcorn
A slice of shadyside honeydew
A sweet morsel of honeycomb
Instead she found an overabundance
Of undercut forefingers
In the underground household
Of the underage bootstrap babysitter
And the weekend watchmaker
With his supersensitive, supersonic pacemaker
And the lifeline, lifeblood keyhole on his forehead
Somehow the sunbathing superwoman found herself in the supernatural underbelly
Behind the bookshelf in the bookstore belonging to the bookmobile bookkeeper
While looking for the washroom in the firehouse
Where she sought a ballroom friendship with the supercool fireman
Her bellbottom daydreams now in upheaval
Her dishpan hands clasp the newspaper
Where she seeks the carefree undercurrent
Along the moonbeam superhighways
Once a moonstruck firecracker
With a crush on a sweetheart schoolboy
She instead found beneath the moonlight
One too many a hookworm playboy
The afterimage of the life that could have been
Reflects mockingly in her stoplight eyeglasses
Everything has been a comedown from her tailspin pinup dreams
So she orders shortbread takeout
And climbs warlike to the housetop
Her tailcoat flapping like a skylark in the wind
On the sunroof in the sundown
She watches the watchman in the watercolor watchtower
The downbeat wastewater waterlogs the waterfowl below
She walks down to the woodshop
To say goodnight to the waxwork scarecrow
She adjusts his sunray bowtie
Before stepping onto the centercut turntable
A blowgun to the forebrain
Nothing to forewarn the foregone horseman in the forecastle foreground
On the moonlit grassland
Her foredoom was foretold
Her washrag fallen in the rainwater
Flows downstream to the uptown washhouse
Where the cardstock newsman reports as an afterthought
The death of nobody and nothing
~Cie and Opal~
This went much further than we ever imagined it would!
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