THE IRRITATION NICHE

The sarcastic, grating smile of a blood orange.
The dropped berry of a stoplight, an acme anvil crushing progress.
The black panther hearse hurtling death metal for stop sign.
The piping winds, wicked warlock of the west, the hottest breath.
Pine sap stalking fabrics, like a sycophant sticks.
Insistent drilling of tooth on tooth.
Starving lyricists writing grocery lists.
The cavern brain of the Evangelists.
The prohibitive miles between couples.
The cork heart of pits and lightweight.
The ribbon-cutting of time, meat slicer in rhyme.
The tit-for-tat vis-à-vis rata-tat-tat.
The idea that zero is hero.
The spiders that didn’t survive.
Fragrance, fragments, frag grenades of scent;
they will unhinge the brain.
Despondent, changing lanes.
Computer applications, you’ll never use–
sometimes superfluous, vestigial.
Vomiting instruction manuals.
A spoiled vinaigrette.
Safety pins rusted and with no remorse.
Every rote film that loves surveillance.
Demand for a first name basis,
when the user id is so much more ridiculous.
An injured kite seizuring to the ground.
Weight that crumbles earth, manufactures borders.
Comforters that suffocate instead of comfort.
The aftertaste of milk. How the unrequited feel.
Sound politicians. The conspicuousness of bleach.
Droughts eating up what we eat.
Emotional statistics, as if they could be measured.
Drone speech, instead of drone music.
Insincere apologies forced.
Dying discs and their whirring clicks.
Small change for large work.
The oval-ridden malachite of jealousy.

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