Banana Heads

Closed to fumes
Erupting in my circumference.
Auras claim my soul tonight.
Happy halos chime the time.

What is the signal
To the riddle
Inside the home front?
Hell or high water.

The truth pushes out
From deep denied.
Chomping jowls
Herd the heaps.

Harassing n’er do wells
Cover the ancient wisdom
With recent flabbergasted
Ripe tarantula teepees.

Quite converted angel types
Come begging at my door.
I seek the end
As soon as possible.

Tackle the flames.
Recite the names
Of all the pitiful

Hanky horrendous
Manger myths.
Might sack sword rolled
Realm rowdy reviews.

Tricked, then trapped.
Trumped, then triumphed.
Flickers of smack down
Meandering banana heads.


Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger, Advocate

2 thoughts on “Banana Heads”

  1. I Love the way you experiment with word play and images. Very avant garde and expressionistic. You have abstract elements and hints of cubism. Your poetry that links disparate wording groups conjures up jazzy beats characterized with a unique tempo, virtuosity, and well placed improvisation.

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