The flat edge hits my nose.
Sharp. Unwanted.
Thump.
‘An evening of heart’,
the print on my face reads.
Thump.
I’m flung waist-deep into the quadrants –
which door will I choose?
Thump.
Careful! Don’t flood them,
they might burst and leak
Thump.
red wine on the prize rug.
Sweet-talk them. Coax out
Thump.
the opaque scent of mind.
Keep reaching for the string.
Thump.
Really, it’s an advert
for a radio station’s new show.
Thump.
Oh, I see.
What happens next?
Thump.
Thump thump thump.
Thump thump.
Thump.
Treeshallow Musings 