Boom. The blind construct detonates,
ignited by a fire in the belly,
those addictions notoriously ingested,
accidentally torching the cockroaches of the temporal mind,
burning bridges and desiccating my spoken words.
Wine, so mellow and sublime,
hastens the fraternity of brain cells
dissolving matter slower than the speed of light,
but poetry stirs the sauce eaten in remote silence,
peppered, platonic words, still simmering,
mind-blowing, within earshot of my cerebral cortexed explosion.
© Connie Song 2021. All Rights Reserved.
