Ambrielle Butler πŸ”ˆ

Lampshades on Mars

Have you ever noticed the way the stars look like
The most delicious bowl of cornflakes
You could ever eat for breakfast?
A bowl of stars poured out from a box
And mixed in with the Milky Way
I’d eat them up in spoonfuls and taste
Their edges turn to soggy dust
Maybe then I’d be a human glow stick
Shake me up, fluorescence untamed

Have you closely observed the rings on Saturn?
Not a wedding band confinement, but a hoop skirt
Underdressings of a woman’s clothing
Blossoming her figure in bellowing blooms
A field of yellow daisies to grace her voluptuous flesh
All that curved beauty entrapped in that ring
Paired with a corset to cinch her up
For fear she may take up too much space
Space she’d consume for breakfast

And so it goes with Venus and Earth
Both dressed in shades of envy
Hazy mists cloud their eyes so that their sight remains unclear
As windows fogging up in an empty room
Mercury is the solid floor
Jupiter the walls
Neptune the ceiling from where sun can hang and light our way
Mars would be her lampshades
Uranus turns sideways, a perfect couch to lounge on
As she settles into this universe she has created
Saturn contents herself by eating a bowl of breakfast stars

Author Reading

About the Author

Ambrielle Butler is a writer and poet from Texas. Her poetry can be found in publications such as Mothers Always Write, The Loch Raven Review, Valley Voices, Giving Room Mag, and others. Find her on Instagram and Twitter @ajbutlerwriting.