Biting Accounts of Taste
Give me a functional team
with social capital,
she barks and purrs in
suites, ties that
surround your queen, broke.
All sawdust misting, hello,
here I am again
by your back porch
your chaise lounge
your steps, working.
Hummingbirds mistake her eyes
for portals in glass jars,
carved from a meteor
left in King Tut’s tomb.
Her heart is a reed-poor frog pond
while she’s fortune’s 500 or more
nowadays knowing how easy
it is,
she arrives at her own door and
plans obstacles and waits for
the sin issue to be over.