It's not illegal to sprinkle lemon juice
in a healing wound, but it's not recommended.
The clatter of silverware rattles the piercings
of a tattooed barista battling a vexatious morning.
Iced caramel lattes, incarcerated by
serrated coffee beans, sleep alone at night.
A half-empty cup of 2% screams at a
of glass skim milk for acting obnoxiously drunk.
One squirrel scorns another for
stealing its spiked acorns last fall.
A lonely poem twists and turns
through disappointing images of life.
At the end of the road there's a mirror
reflecting an absent feeling of satisfaction.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 6:34 PM UTC
It's not illegal to sprinkle lemon juice
in a healing wound, but it's not recommended.
The clatter of silverware rattles the piercings
of a tattooed barista battling a vexatious morning.
Iced caramel lattes, incarcerated by
serrated coffee beans, sleep alone at night.
A half-empty cup of 2% screams at a
of glass skim milk for acting obnoxiously drunk.
One squirrel scorns another for
stealing its spiked acorns last fall.
A lonely poem twists and turns
through disappointing images of life.
At the end of the road there's a mirror
reflecting an absent feeling of satisfaction.
Request permission to use this poem