An Unfinished Poem

Went to bed with an unfinished poem

In my mouth and could not kiss

My howling child to sleep

For the verses threatened to spill out of my lips

And drown the doll’s house

Where lives a silent dream

Of yesterday’s conjugal calm.

Today is a new morning, a festering orange

Of sour mouth sores- wells dry of words and thought,

Little half moons of my unfinished song,

In the woods of my baby’s lullaby

In the swamp of kitchen folklores.

My baby breathes into good society

Babbling bubbles of conniving innocence

My baby giggles in the arms of familial normalcy  

As I dissolve my imagination in the dinner broth

And sweep dusty words out of my lovely home.

If I were the chimera of my perfect present,

I’d set its roots ablaze and wish for nothing in return.