A Frozen Cone

"A Frozen Cone"               

Paper roses drink from fire hoses.

Nostril's noses in different poses.

Flying like Icarus into an ice-cream's Sunday.

I am born again every morning.

Play on revival.

A born again day in spring's winters.

Poetry, like a good museum's painting, needs a rental place.

Like all quality space and time.

Dog bites on my foot while my ex bites my arm.

I get an ice-cream sandwich which is better than a knuckled one.

A knuckle sandwich like an ice-cream's, will make me lose my teeth. 

Turn my teeth with yellow orange stains.

I'm in a creative state of mind and a mind's creative mood.

Thousands of unknown people are coming out of my pockets.

Because I was so bitterly cold on a winter's February's day.

It's so cold my rear is sticking to the park bench.

My radiator's not giving heat.

The toes are frozen in the frigid snows.

My pants are smoking and my sock has an icicle.

I'm feeling quite low like a Popsicle.  

By Jonathan Billet 10/26/13