brook house 2

By Sarah Davis

Like the eggs you smashed as a child
you sit, brain scrambling.
Cerulean lines take you
through the maze of carnage,
fingernails, kumquats.

Come one, come all
a freak show,
null in void white elephants.
Back alley avoidance
hung up to dry on wire hangers.

The ring leader’s eyes feast
upon your naked flesh,
puts your nest on display.
The mallard’s beak pries you open
it searches for its lost eggs.

Ether propels you to dream,
mercury and caffeine vacate,
blankets tickled periwinkle surround you,
the crunch of vacuumed Cheerios,
screams diluted in cleaning solution.

High frequency sound waves creep into your purse.
Relief fills you with emptiness.
You leave the circus out the back door.
The smashed eggs leak back into your mind,
maybe its bird brain had no hopes to crush and grind.

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