Full. Stop.

Full. Stop.
by DIY Danna
Nothing could stop her from breaking the dish,
dispersing shards, pieces of bruised, broken wisdom–
a sunflower in a dry vase kissed by shadows of thoughts
as theremins play and a man confesses a pure loathing,
unadulterated slapstick to tragic red rouge on wrinkled
lips murmuring the lyrics to a song about cats
who record palsy conversations with social lepers,
and sleep with closet racist gun nuts who only
look good naked and completely silent, simmering–
no–hatred rises into an “unpoppable” bubble
of disgust for dalliances with false prophets,
with no more room for love. Full. Stop.