Wake from the dream
where I lick your toes
each until your alarm
goes off to go to work.
I can have not forgotten.
Dry mouth awake anew.
Something on fire.
The kitchen. The kitchen!
Not Tuesday.
Saturday evening
familiar
song of the fire alarm.
Rice burns and quench
in the sink.
Metal split and screech bubble
boil bang and bssshhhhhh.
Sweat drip from eyelash,
from brow and scalp tight.
Breathe heavy, fingertip tremor,
eye's wide.
We are going to be rich.
All of this money.
Boil. Handsome, darling, golden, purr.
Purr and hum. The track's
song. Fault lines.
