The frogs are incredibly loud here

Excerpt from the poem Snapshot:

Clouds. 7 peppers plastered upon a yellow wheel barrow. Sara’s lower back tattoo stretched by hunger. Where do we put the beer? Crisper emptied of plums flung into ceiling fan. Red crockpot on Bobby’s head! Hair drips like electric eels lifted form a glazed sea of RO*TEL. Whirling micro waves swarm the air. The apparition of a spoon. Who double-dipped their tranquility? I wonder…On the beads of the bowl TV glitters.