The Epiphany

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,

overdue.

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,

sanctimonious.

Inside the melon tastes sweet like dew

chromatic,

but, she saves her vows for more Nirvana.

The bloom and boom manifests broken nettle rash

she cant replace the hunger and prevarication.

But,

lost to the cider inside the curbs and

she held still and nodded her epiphany.

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