YEAR OF THE RAT by Bridget Talone

Revulsion turns
my chest a sweating
candy, sour and
assertive. Each revolution
laying down its stain.

Baby, baby, baby, baby.
A string inside me spoils.

But I have no defense
for what I will do next
and undefended turn
a silver blue. Hiss
and sicken on the bulb. 

The hot thud from light
to laptop screen
to window glass.
An irritation set in loops. 

I asked myself what did I love.
I loved to make time go away.

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