Poetry · Writing

blender

it swirls inside me

nothing i can do;

locked in a room and nothing but a light-

hearing the blade swinging round and round

a powerful swosh like top of nike hill

falling;

shaking with floating pieces of a being

i can’t make out

and everything goes black-

falling to pieces breaking bread with an unknown substance

racing the floor punishing like grapes meant to be wine

it’s not fine the blade has spoken

a mango blast

a tango last

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