Confusion9's Scribblings 1-2

he curdles up like a frog legged jumpsuit in the summer in the fog at night in winter and blooms into a butterknife from the cocoon of a once distraught jumpsuit made of polyester and 10% cotton fields in the days of a civil war. i saw him once, behind a barn, counting pebbles or counting fingers or thinking of frogs and the way they jump so high and of butterflies and the way they become something else but not a frog. some instances seem like a never and others a forever and seemingly forgiving but never have i seen a frog a jumpsuit nor a butterfly, though every morn i wake to an open window the shutters strewn with silk from forgotten cocoons, never once have i strained an eye to see the sky in winter fog's dye. he's seen the sun at every angle in every stretch of the imagination inside out and upside down from infinite to null in which case the eyes reject light and frogs' skins dry and butterflies rest in a cocoon a jumpsuit of 90%. polyester

II. Veins

unto veins among you and me feeling reason among blood, i've a share of red wine intertwine a vessel of red knotted love. here's an insiduous idea, how 'bout a tea party? in the key of crimson, in light among grey shades and wounds still yet unshaken. i've a sin in each vain attempt asunder among each limb upon body among body within and without reasonable doubt, within a single vein, a single shout. features revolve unto resolution wherein substance dissolves, a singular image resolves revealing (i disbelieving) a singular restitution.