Hate Like.

Heartburn in your stomach.
Organic lattices grinding in circles
Against
Flesh that sparkled
Yesterday.
A temper,
An attitude
You can only halfway give up on.
Bad breath
And some stagnant sort of pall in the room
That won’t be ignored.
A waistband too tight.
A face furiously plain and
Red deserts along her cheekbones.
Tears trickle from complacent yesterdays
When this goddamn biosphere
Was toxically controlled;
When depression was a blind man’s game,
A hamster’s game
And ducks were able to form lines with their bodies.
A nagging sensation of no one
Evolves into cloudy, over-dreamt
Tsunamis.
Wishes
In Middle America
Die two feet from the front door
And paint peels too quickly.

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~ by Jade Elizabeth on June 7, 2011.

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