Saturday, October 15, 2011


How quickly I accept
symbols of bread when I am starving.
This plain girl you think you see
reading quietly on the train
is a mad woman chewing signs,
paper shreds between her teeth bleeding
ink. A dry taste, almost sour,
like something that was edible once.
I should have listened.
Vendors of milk and honey
on every corner; I pretended
my pockets were empty.