prep plate.

Angel hair pasta and party tutus lend

The way to a day of un-structured seasonal

Affective bearings to laugh with quenched

Teeth but I’m not equipped with a mechanical

Pencil racked in my mind like a tool

Box with rusted hinges. I linger

On repeat and listen to lyrics I haven’t yet

Memorized. Airplane mode pilots the words

Discharged from my jaw and the base

Unit ricochets like broken beer

Bottles blasting on exposed brick like an art

Deco start-up studio with painted hearts of human

Children precariously hanging from wacked

Walls not ceilings abstractly shooting forward jumping

Through my eyes ensnare pupils rip and roll rest

inside my head to heal the unexposed abscess only seen

on the interior floor exit plan.