Something Scintalizing About S
?

 

                                                                                               Something about erupting momentum

                                                              of ruptured silences, utter startling

                                         and cruel to my horror of confrontation–

a knock–Mom offers apple slices; disruption, still I glared at the 

 

                               stretching hemming, wavelike yarn, I detect: parallel to my out-curved

                     waist. Warning: Failure of accentuating, detaching n! o! w! Tranquility,

                leaned-front weighted shoulder; phase one–back to naked nothings.

        I glared, imperceptible expression; Mom rushed-I-hurried-to

 

    Survey the nemesis–

Who so dastardly magnified the cracked fragility.

    Plenty stances of wrecked illustrations, the escalating

        concern of fancy features–everyone is at the door-dressed

 

 “So the younger one eats more–I assume?” regular investigations

renovate me a celebrity of shameful fame–chuckles, chuckles in concert

in which I continue to orchestrate, “Nothing, nothing, Mom!”–

         semi-squatting–front of the white circular toilet bowl; “On my way!”

 

      Screw those apple slices, anyways. The sick, cursing–

  pretentious bloatation pilots my attention to calculation: complex

                                          contemplation and condemning of “what-if-I Didn’t/s”–save me, I beg;

        silence–Mom disrupts my ritual–Are you ready??? I am a rotten one-I swear.

 

          Salient blot–doesn’t matter, nowhere seen–I don’t own a single inch of spectaculars

              Splash me opaque like a blank canvas–urgent protocol: Evaporate me! Evaporate me!

      Slaps work better than morning alarms; spike and sabotage–I’m nauseous–see,

S, being S is brilliant–I promise, trust me.