I spilled some iced tea on my five dollar culottes

I spilled some iced tea on my five dollar culottes
because i forgot how to swallow
and it dribbled down my chin like
some kind of mental patient.

It was sterile.
So compact and untouchable
permeating metal and iron into the air.
Recollections of phosphorous.

I wish the walls would come down and make a big spill
so that I would be coated in calamity again.
Fresh original trifle.
My pen would come out of the rafters and find something to talk about
and the stain on my culottes
would look like a sheep trying to eat a flower
or a little boy
or your face.

And when a love tolled from the rafters
it would resonate.
It will bounce off of the concrete and hurtle itself
through cigarettes.
It will taste sweet and new
and I'll roll it around with my tongue.
Tasting the newness.

I'll run to the muddy creek to spit
my hips afraid
of the glucose.
And you'll stand there.
Waiting.