In the rain, eat pistachiosThe girl with the red dress, hands me a lilySecrets of the house—of the blouse—of the bruiseI begin eating them and them and them: flax seedsWe cannot live in mud of melancholyLike a sticky hot bun, this is all sticky
Atlanta weather’s also stickyGreen ice cream, big chunks of green pistachiosI’m feeling low and Molly MelancholyThe trumpet blew and it unfolded the lilyMix them in shakes & shake ‘em-shake ‘em flax seedsWhy the fuck do I have to deal with the bruise???
He gave it to me—the black bruiseMy feet couldn’t walk. It was all too sticky.We kneaded the bread and added the flax seedsI wanted to crawl into pistachiosFor free, free; he handed me a lily, lilyWhat a fuckin’ folly, fuckin’ melancholy
Wolly! Wolly! Melancholy!A train hit me. It didn’t create the bruise.Lilium flowers. Lovely Miss Lily.Adhering to a surface or thing: stickyUnisexual Persian PistachiosFrivolously Feisty Flamboyant Flax Seeds
I flush it out using flax seedsHe was suicidal. I, melancholyPissed off… pissed off… pissing pee pistachiosSo badly and sadly, he gave me the bruise.July nights in ATL, running stickyHe grabbed and put it in my hair, the lily
I returned as an Asiatic LilyBrown or yellow or gold or Feng Shui flax seeds?My fingers after eating the orange, stickyMood disorder: bipolar melancholyIt won’t leave. He’s still here. Damn! Damn Tan! Damn bruise!This tale was never about pistachios