Take these shoes, it’s okay
I have waxed them and I’ll show you
how to eat soup
without saying I love you
It’s alright, take the broom
and wait, wait
by the door
for some witches to bloom
Wait, wait forever and ever
will you?
I’ll watch you from a photo
or in a sad movie about my life
And this consumed language
is like that awkward pause
between two bites
or changing positions in bed
Somehow if I keep writing
the silence will be morphed
into little bubbles
bursting blood sauce and soup
The soupiness of it all
the mistranslated menus
and caked up cultures
insatiable pigs: meat of the day
a little secret adventure
Wait, wait for it again
take a tree
and it will grow into a pen
It’s all right, breach the bread
and dust my breasts
but today there is a new waiter
and I have yet to order.
London