through a straw. The puddles,
big as poodles. I slurped them up
as noodles. But now I drown
face down from past reverie, in
shadows of a memory.

I used to eat my Rage
sprinkled with thyme and
sage. But now it simmers on
the stove mingled with oranges
and clove.

I used to hang my poetry
on the line to catch the
sunshine. But it has fallen
off and choked up in my cough.