The Word
Doug Olmstead What is the word?! I want to scoop out my brain with a serrated-tipped grapefruit spoon: the concave mirror clenches the zesty citrus nodules, near-bursting; but with a thin membrane, luminous with sheen holding the taste back, I stumble in my attempt to harvest from the rind, squirting myself in the eye. the flavor is near… a slap in the face; you feel, not mal-intent, but a zeal for living tweaking behind your ears with a sour bustling bristle. I want to shower my brain with sugar for taste and then blanket my brain with my tongue; but a self-deception obfuscates my inner workings: perhaps I used salt instead for only a foul bitterness quakes— What is that word?? What is that word…? It will come to me at 3 AM and I will smack my mouth, talcum powder tongue,
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