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
Left Charlee on the futon with
exposed rusted metal springs, featherlike.
The sound of orange
The sound of plum
Broken trinkets and mismatched socks