Housewife Lament on High

A wet sponge in a porcelain tub,

Sinking, saturated, fully wanting unlove,

my memory would feel less redundant of.

1. A vast retraction of the tide. Its grand divorce from the moon. All seven bodies of water land within the custody of Earth’s womb.

2. Invest in a mirror, trap self in mirror, break mirror in sun. May every glare remind all who weren’t there when the lights were on.

3. Replayed and overdubbed, the siren bemoans her song. A dirge, the words, her gentle tone, gilted in wrong.

You want to know soul?

Tell me, where is your kitchen? Take me there, child. And take a listen.

Are you strong, sweet one? Can you take up all those dishes?

Answers quickly, now. We can’t have a single one missin’.

Break that fine glass there in the road while I steal your shoes.

Give your eyes to my hands and let me lead you

‘til the China bowl street tenderizes your foolish meat.

Step easy, dearest. It’s not for the masses. Or the weak.

You simple flower. And those lavender eyelids.

Too quickly overgrown in

Thoughtfulness and doily folded lashes.

It is in the heart of the beholder, inhibited by social blockades and iron soldiers…get yer permits for neuro-transit before it’s too late to…

The smallest piece of matter in the center of the platter, when served by mother hatter, will always explode. The mushrooms and clouds people’s choke-out-loud mouths sputter truth claims and gnomes.

Myfirstimpulsewasright, but iwentwiththeunknown. Instead. What. of. thoughtfulness. Instead. What. I. said. Instead. What. of. flames. and porcupine heads?

What they say is true: The deeper the shelter, the darker the rooms.