Sour Kitchen
a riddle I speak
a deathly one
a blissful maiden I am
you might think
gobbled up by a riddle
a noisy one
full of images
whined up
against the tides of wars
the clashes of the sweet and sour
the ticking clock
the extra hour that was not yet lived
and yet a riddle I speak
though my expectations
a word is what it is
I am no Stein
nor am I blissful
for one sure thing
I am
the expected
a human in pain