Blots & blots of Words…

eventually

it broke.

(the vase)

sure, I had to throw it against the wall

a few times,

(or a million)

but the smashing of it

surprised me

–liquid spilled everywhere!

cutting tender toes

as I struggled to mop it up

Lacking towel

(and mop)

the crumpled paper balls I employed

–created incidental Rorschach art,

and poetry that looked quite like words—

but proved ineffective

(in the l-o-n-g run)

and clothing cut into

tourniquets couldn’t staunch

the bleed, either

–water colored paradoxically

rose from those toes—

and though I cursed the mess soundly,

that didn’t work as well as I thought it might.

that spill spread!

A mixed metaphor–

the wildfire of it

soaked rugs,

seeped through floorboards,

and dripped into

every story in my house,

saturating everything in red

–which made me angry,

. . .

and hungry

. . .

and more attractive to the opposite sex, even so–

(as red will)

and it wasn’t until

the liquification of home

and hearth

was near complete,

that I noticed

there had been no

Gerbers in that

infernal vessel

–after all.