Stephanie Ann Whited
IT STARTS IN THE BELLY
I am losing prayers to these eardrums. In a whale
stomach that needs a scrubbing. A good detox. No
more shellfish for this fiend who just opens his mouth
taking in any old thing that comes along. I
dream the ark teeters on the precipice
of embargo. How about
some Palmolive to shiny
the hull? I hear
the figs have eyes
to rest on laurels
made of patent pig
skin and red #
40.
I spy something black and white and radioactive
All over.
No comments:
Post a Comment