Ceres

Left the bowl unfinished this morning.

No time after I’m done nearly dying.

Gray eyes, growing out of gray sockets,
twisting out into the sunrise

The air burns,
like cold flames swallowing my face,
piercing my arms
devouring my hair

Unsaidness
filling the space the green death couldn’t
tunneling out into first light

Words turn to ash
before I can think them finished
blurring sense out of shape

Thoughts submerged
Morning blur
My cereal’s still on the stove

Looked like the “fancy” cereal I made my mom buy us
T’was some MURKA trash
Processed, “refined,”
dyed with some fake colour shit
some fake flavour shit

When I asked
Mom taught me about esters
after Dad taught me about pheromones

Peering into Washington Park
over the kerosene stove

talcum powder beans
made us cry for days

Yesli,
and her perverted younger sister
who loved to jump on me
and make out

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