Mulling cider inside the curbs,
She waits to hear the roar,
of a plutonium blast perhaps
it subsides her.
But, the rain throws sideways and violent
this way and front view
distortion from smoke dew.
A far criminal with cerise strip
takes over the wheel and spins the
world like its headed for her,
the vain rain dance overhead,
and yellow it like a ringlet on a flower,
The wall paper is the same crackled and sick,
and a web by the silver dew dropped sink.
She didn’t pour but bourbon she thirst
the melon fever.
An epiphanies reactor,
seeps up the divine to hold her queer,
like a thicket or a vine,
Inside the melon tastes sweet like dew
but, she saves her vows for more Nirvana.
The bloom and boom manifests broken nettle rash
she cant replace the hunger and prevarication.
lost to the cider inside the curbs and
she held still and nodded her epiphany.