Tart orange juice dribbles down,
it slips between my open lips
searching for a place to rest
between coffee and toothpaste.
Such cursive undulation
of damp drops are impeded
by a sleeve, where wandering thought
of prosciutto forms its nest.
Mellifluous screams / defiant
jazz tickles ear folds with hunger –
hunger. Wild carrots, curling
parsley, honey’s sweet sting,
each flirtation the mouth tastes
ripe and rotten, mental collapse,
crude like sprouting potatoes.
I tuck a napkin under my thigh.
Hunger, my melted will, my aching
agony erupts, help me – help wipe
my mouth, my tongue, my snot, and
tears. I find no rest in this place.
