If the Sun Comes Up

Because it whitens and five
minutes never repeats. Digging
underneath a star. The liquids and
I do not shake but brain falls
deeply into pit. I am swallowing
without cut. Since the body first
turned red and synesthesia means
itch means temporality murdered
prognosis. Three letters and sudden
sands. Flames curl upward and nip
the knife. Clonic but there is no Y and
I valproate as single for acute.
It does not work and swirls in chest,
no smoke. There exists splotch
otherwise and hairs pour gently. Pliable
without separation. Ylang ylang and
rosewood is charity and eat the price
minus taxes. We let fingers absorb the
skin. And you're doing a world of good
and nicely done and there is
something, a smell good with humans.
Three letters. Gooseberry radiance does
not exist. I am but a lemon, paraben-
free. Nicely done. No lines nor dark nor
edging back to eyes. Colorants
growing from wrists. It is ideal and I
protect Australia from lies and poster
left at home. Each time the bump
produces, stains my bed. I only wear
my nose. Cleaning and this household
is a stapler. Precision in tips without
wonder in my ears. The ribs do not lay
flat. I only have it for one reason.
Silky hair the enemy, sustenance
caught in breasts. It glides customizable
orange. What it is an hourglass and there
are tricks subsiding speech. Long
after panel survey, done what it is what
is it. We can all be wolverine. Brows
exist within canthus and face does
not lean to sun. Nicely done and
is nothing without unique. Makes
the color pop with age without
remembering. Purchased as skin
dissolved and hair not yet highlighting
lips. I cannot find the
patent or the note. In order
to maximize and point lost in language.
And you'll adore the bottle. And one
eye looks the other way. And I wake up
and am elsewhere, and that is all.

Copyright Credit: Zoe Stoller, "If the Sun Comes Up" from Glass: Poetry Magazine, January 2018.  Copyright © 2018 by Zoe Stoller.  Reprinted by permission of Zoe Stoller.
Source: Glass Poetry Press