glendale boulevard

 

wake me up with pinholes

of light piercing the lace curtain

wake my ears slowly

by the crash of recycled glass

by three dusty beagles

who lose their cools

as their keeper whispers “calm”

while ogling a phone

cars drive forwards

and backwards beeping fro

deliver me a huge jug of distilled water

at the top of the stairs

it smells 

like a mouth guard just removed

a baby’s indelicate farts

aged wet laundry

coffee grounds awaiting dispatch

which brings me to the taste

of a cheek and a tiny cheek

and the first rinse of my mouth

blood of my teeth

the phlegm and privacy

of 3 minutes alone

the debloating minutes

of salty tears

the hilarity of hair

a sculpture busted blindly

in a squalor of passion