the whistle got blew
it got blown & all the
noise of that three
note steel tube
screaming a release
of multi-color textures
so thick you could bite
them and so sweet
it disappears like
cotton candy,
with a melted
after kick of
the best ice cream
you ever tasted;
the smell you want
to eat when you
walk in & choices
are irrelevant,
since the colors
are sound and
the orchestra
pit is all the flavors
you ever wanted
ones you never
knew existed,
all this creaminess
conducted by your
appetite for
edible reality,
when all it took
was that three
headed whistle
to let the
ink cone stain
your lips & tongue
since the whistle got
blown, it got blew,
this screaming tube
freed us through
its hungry release.
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