Cricket

What are the symptoms of wanting

outlets to melt in your hand, stick

to your cheeks with cheap licorice?

 

I console my batteries like dying

crickets. Wait for that leg to sputter,

the mic in its thighs to gain power.

 

Pure water isn’t very conductive.

I dare you to drink from wetlands

that don’t transform your feet to rubber.

 

The electric tongue, stilled in new tar.

Lily pink lingers on your fingers, misty

on the matter if it was Advil or candy.

 

It’s not about healing anymore

but liquefying your spine into

rivers brimmed with biomass.

Advertisements

Published by

Jenna

Hello, fellow bundle of nerves and flesh! I'm a simple little being who's half-poet, half-scientist, and all gelatinous chaos. Sort of like an illogical marshmallow. If you'd like to learn more, please seek out the "First Impressions" page. Thank you for the visit, bundle friend.

One thought on “Cricket”

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s