Malcolm James Furst
Words, words, wordsArchive for taste
Jagged Edge
Standing on all four
lurching.
moto speed.
Quickly going nowhere fast.
Pressure builds
inside a candy-glass sphere.
Tiny fault lines
shiver
along it’s inside surface.
The shattering is muffled,
you hear nothing.
Years later,
the broken glass
in tightly locked room,
cuts you.
You remember the pain
and taste your blood.
Sure does Taste Good
Even though I have flown over the globe a couple times,
making the world seem small,
thinking I know it all,
Still, I come back to the well,
where that cool, sweet water sure does taste good.
Even though I have sipped the finest wine money can buy,
eaten savory meats,
the most decadent sweets
Still, I come back to the well,
where that cool, sweet water sure does taste good.
Even though I may one day be battered, frail, old, and gray
I will walk, crawl, or creep
To those deep waters, deep.
Still, I’ll come back to the well,
where that cool, sweet water sure does taste good.
Relief
I can’t get this awful taste out of my mouth. It’s so hideous, so acrid. I try gargling, like a bubbler, gurgling, but that doesn’t work, so I scrape my tongue with an emery board, but THAT does nothing, but the razor blade helps, a three-blade razor does the trick. No shaving cream—that would be gross.
