X
YEARS IN GEARS
I’ve a pica for teeth;
I’m a bug in a cup for you.
I tell everyone: “Desserts
first, surely.” But,
to you, I say: “The last two will fall
as surely as the first.”
That’s all, not sweet, I’d rather not
blandish. I miss writing badly:
“I want—”
I abstain
and though full and heavy, I’m peckish.
My wandering
red, flat feet and I
can’t sleep.
Funny, I imagine
this zygote yanked, bobbing
in the metropolis. Cut the ribbon
and up it flies.
I’ve a pica for teeth;
I’m a bug in a cup for you.
I tell everyone: “Desserts
first, surely.” But,
to you, I say: “The last two will fall
as surely as the first.”
That’s all, not sweet, I’d rather not
blandish. I miss writing badly:
“I want—”
I abstain
and though full and heavy, I’m peckish.
My wandering
red, flat feet and I
can’t sleep.
Funny, I imagine
this zygote yanked, bobbing
in the metropolis. Cut the ribbon
and up it flies.