Sherbet Fountains
After our quaint rendezvous, aspersions
lunging through the underworked lacuna
just like tiddlywinks, I necked another
sherbet fountain and suckled on the
ruthlessness of a licorice stick, middle
finger to the moonlight. I waited,
.
For the fall out to settle and blew
circles in the dandruff pitted from
my crystalizing scalp.
.
Was it wrong then, to tease my
cellular snow flakes in the wake
of my decayed breastbone?
.
It wasn’t me who threaded the
mercury
in the barometer.
