Brialee Turner

Out of a milky soup,
clawing it’s way forth,
cracking,
a chandelier.
Fresh and mesh armor
of scales.

Seeks to destroy,
an iron hunger,
it’s voice rumbles
and the sun erupts
from it’s throat.

Never satiated,
the only honor is that it
cannot kill itself,
for without an opponent,
it must let it’s lungs return to stardust.

Warmly wrapped,
gently curious
about the sunlight,
shedding the
wet blanket for the
wings to fly.

Trembling,
seeking for the silky starlight of home,
discovers a garden.
Upon arrival
discovers that the ecosystem
is stuffed within
fences.

Trampled,
underneath the sole of the man,
a dream takes it’s last breath.
The red flesh of the fire breather
licks it’s iridescence.

A volcano of embryonic waves,
a cord is cut.
Blood of life is replaced
with milk.

Possessive of the
lush garden,
only the seeds planted by heaven
get to grow.
Chemical kill the weeds
and living crawlings.

He opens the gate for the monster,
lusting for the nectar of power
only to be eaten himself,
digested whole.