Onion Polluted Visions

All over the home

onions roam on paper legs

spreading acrid mist.

.

Static snakes of yarn

twist away from me on cloth

in a futile dance.

.

Tumbling biscuit crumbs

smash into cookies for ants,

hidden in seat cracks.

.

My all-star sneaker

has a hole straight through the star,

leading to midnight.

.

The white page brushes

in butterfly cheek kisses,

as water falls.

.

Scales are smudged,

soon the acrid scent leaves

and my vision clears.

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