her (favourite) poem

the sun is swallowed like the pill prescribed to light us up and into a day when the serotonin rushes along the rivers in our            body making this soon        to         

be expired machine become victims of our vocabulary with white-livered thoughts on a couch paring fingernails and rattling around i n side a carousel brain watching everyone drunk on cotton candy and playing games to win plush toys or wait         in         line* for a quick thrill spinning around into a very existence

built by lack of imagination that has led

to a screen to a scroll of

sighs and sunken hearts liked by a few sought by many covering up the deep wound with a bandage to just get through it all            again