OUCHHEAD

Before the bright, little worms get to dance in the corners of your vision,

and before the tinny flute gets to whistle just outside your head,

and before your snake jaw gets to ache with the memory of its egg-eating past life, 

and before the urethane foam seals the pressure into your ear canal,

and before the demo-crew in your skull gets off their lunchbreak,

and before your scalp gets to pull your hair up by the garlic bulb roots,

and before your sinuses get to engorge themselves with god-knows-what,

and before the sea in your stomach goes to deadliest catch level storm,

and before everything goes own-teeth-on-own-tongue sharp,

and before your telescope vision gets real telescope-y,

and before everything wobbles,

and everything singes,

and nausea is a dull roar

and pain spreads like a mold, 

all you can taste is the

sweet sweet slip of magnolia slick sidewalk

Sofiy Inck