How to occupy this wait for my hot entree?
*
My Hot Entree, shall be the title.
My hot entree, like my stomach, now burning
from too much wine on the ride, need tums, but
hate the way they taste, grainy mint in
my mouth, enough powder to need a drink--cold
against my cavities, always wondering with every
crunch, how these fragrant pebbles banish the burn
within my stomach, wondering on the far end of a brain string,
what formula, what labortory gave birth to this creation?
*
How is she awake right now? Taking orders
juggling phone wires, poetically ripped from the wall
I can barely stay awake sitting here.
This oozing entity, a pirate ready to sword my hunger,
shall taste amazing, really.
*
I need more patience.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment