Wednesday, April 9, 2014

Cake

No set form tonight.  This is a poem about cake, sort of.

Cake

Nerves stretched tight, jangling and pounding
like the wires on John Cage's piano
Pressure in the skull like her brain
has finally decided to make a break for it
Eyes bloodshot, small and irritated
framed by blurred mascara

She is weaving and careening towards the bathroom
focus fixed on kamikazing this wretched long day
and catches a mirrored glimpse of herself,

a dark splotch of chocolate frosting on her forehead
from where she'd taken down a piece of
gluten-free seven layer cake
like a hitman

And laughs.

It's going to be ok.

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