Poetry

The cake is damp

It’s how you have to contort your mouth when you say it

chew it up like tough leftovers

with that same shine of distaste in your eyes.

It’s just a word

but oh, how you use every synonym you can think of

just to avoid it.

Sadly, good cake

is nothing if it’s not this.

Poetry

Uncorked

Black swirls on the brain. Links opening to catch stray ringlets of thought that otherwise would spring as solar flares from the mouth; raw, dangerous, too bright for most to look at. Stacked, formulated, ready for processing. That’s how they want it. That’s how they accept it. Are you sure? What if the sun needs to flare?