Wildberries bleed in between two fists
I clench, bury fingers deep in fleshy fruit
Oozing out and spinning with seeds to the floor below
Licking my forearms, wrists, fingertips
Trying to taste at that sweet ambrosia
To find but bittersweet
Too-ripe-raspberry instead
Everything is an analogy, again, again!
The same old used up ****, no innovation
And I grab, I rip the seams,
(rather sutures; sewn, resewn)
And pick my brain looking for
Any small bits of copper or computer chip parts
That mayhap I might fashion a real beast
To roar and scream, squish up berries and words
And find something honey'd dripping down
Instead of that sickening *******
Sour of spoiled milk and thought
