FOOL'S PLASTIC

Fearsome, fabled flares call the kettle

bold through its chipped, feathered helm

that sits upon a heap of shining gold,

mere plastic painted to gleam like metal.

The jets of frigid fire sting the stars

that search the foolish golden palace

for a never known ficticious world

where the sun shines gilded verse.

A superfluous concoction of winged,

dented, withered springtime tea's

folded mansion, burned to the floor:

a stumbling angel's sweetest mare.

The frolic of the legend's beams

that name a bottle of poisoned air,

a beauty of streaming, vital water,

flood the coffer with gold-painted plastic.