I’m experiencing
    in senses backward
    the strange balsamic carrot
    I see vinegar seering and taste the undertow
    There were people but now pieces in barbed wire
    bathing in wasabi
    dry blood with napkins and electric stitches
    Swans are mortal, too.
    upside down ponies trot
    as popped bubblegum
    propaganda lockjaw
    Left Charlee on the futon with
    exposed rusted metal springs, featherlike.
    The sound of orange
    The sound of plum
    Broken trinkets and mismatched socks