4 – half-burnt toast

a freckle on your nose

u n c e r t a i n t y ;

and a delicate acceptance

of what they thought they know…

what you thought you knew.

rub it off, impulsively,

staring down the cold sun—

it’s lower than this afternoon

like the sky sank around it instead

of the other way around…

silk curtains fresh with dust

and an alarm clock that acts like

a hatchet clean down your

confused head, splicing

your migraine in half like a

raging hydra having a bad day.

melanin is lost to sunburn;

quietly-peeling skin picked on

like trying to remove the memory

of a bad vacation, and

u n c e r t a i n t y g r o w s —

the toaster flies off into eternity.

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