Well it’s November, which means NaNoWriMo, waiting for submissions responses and contest results, holiday prep, and all the things that contribute to neglecting this page. So here’s a poem.
SOUL FOOD
Dissonant chords
swell
and fade,
filling the senses
like warm air
stretching thin rubber skin.
Clawing.
Scratching at the edge
of glory,
unable to release.
Fear
binds the unknown
closer.
Screaming to be set free,
notes tumble
through space
and consciousness
only to be caught in the breath:
delectable pieces
of sensual fruit.
