Kendall Wiggins
The beginning was hidden on the couch without feet. Would-be warning signs covered in a liquor-fuzzy veil (red alert thoughts smoothed over in pink). Innocence became an excuse while desire became denial swallowed whole…
* * *
You say I taste like a
schizophrenic ice cream cone
on sticky summer days
when I ask which flavor would be mine.
But as you tap blue pop rocks
onto plain-Jane vanilla,
I say you’re just a Gemini
who can’t make up his mind…
Clamor 