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Post-Ablution
May 8, 2014
She was a soap tray,
waxy residue, green and blue.
Puckered pajama pants said
"Don't mind the blood."
Her toothbrush tasted like grey,
so she ate the whole thing.
She will sleep
and scratch at thoughts
No one will ever see.
She was smooth, not waxy.
The dew on nighttime asphalt
turned dry in the morning.
One of the hungry lamps grew dim-
and acid dreams fell like rain.
© Brittan S., Claremont, CA
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