sour kitchen


a riddle I speak 
a deathly one 
a blissful maiden I am 
you might think 
gobbled up by a riddle 
a noisy one full of images whined up
against the tides of wars 
the clashes of the sweet and sour
 the ticking clock 
the extra hour that was not yet lived 
and yet a riddle I speak
though my expectations 
a word is what it is 
I am no Stein nor am I blissful 
for one sure thing I am the expected 
a human in pain

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