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The aftertaste.
Dan.
7 Jul 2005
What is on the tip of my tongue?
the awkward taste of pennies
rusting copper and old iron
dried blood aging meat
A distinct flavor
of failure
What can only be described
as the scent of money
of what is opposite of the outdoors,
the odor of Subway grit urine rot exhaust
the pills that choke and beg to be forgotten
Of the Unneeded and the Unwanted.
The painful fluorscent tubes, humming with nothing
and their twins of empty greasy takeaway trays for one.
The pulsing of falling water,
not falling from clouds or anceint stones
but tubes and plumbing and piping.
It's the taste of the push
at the playground
onto the blacktop tar
with teeth slicing into and
through
the thin skin that lines your mouth.
Of the sweet fluids that
flow.
Of paints ink oils wax dyes stains
things that shouldn't be gnawed on
Of unfulfilled dreams
and everything else that starts
with D.
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