Hereafter, I Come To Go
The gravity above bends all curvature.
Rusty creases smooch the downpouring nectar,
leaving hints of shaky aches here and there.
More of it can split smiles and slit tears.
Nails intrude into the forbidden territory.
Drill repeatedly to fill air in, get gas out--
until no substance is not depleted.
Why stuff nothing to inflate the shell?
The washing machine spins berserk,
flopping the entrails into some somersaults.
Chemical reactions unwilling to take their time off.
Sparkles flared bubbles into troubles.
A brisk smack rescinds any signs of oomph.
The breeze materializes itself into blasts of fireworks--
strips of hair whirled into a pirouette,
rotating an infinite ninty degrees on the wasted one.
Copyright © Helen Cheng | Year Posted 2015
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