Prince Bush: Finds Me Lurking Earth

Photo: Joanna C. Valente

21

Pleasure’s edge is the end of a glass,

Bubbling, its true contents hidden with

Lemon juice, lemon and lime soda or

Lemonade, its flavor cloaking, like a

Large coat, on top of anything, outcomes

That need over-the-counter cures. After

Several shots, I taste low retention, crab

Legs, a cheap chicken sandwich from

Somewhere, a consenting neck, crevice,

Cuddle in the cusp of morning, not

Mourning much, but the hurting head, its

Heavy chokehold. I read the brain shrinks

For a moment, during hangovers, though I

Make headway, feel expanded, learn

Life's lamentable taste, its toxins,

Interim tonics, and saccharine mixers.

Pill

I lost a synonym for regulate,

Control, before I said yes, before I

Could fake contemplation, gouge

Or pick my brain before an emphatic,

Desperate, fervor-filled yes. I forgot

Regulate, in terms of regular, Latin—

Rule, reg as in king or man over me,

Dictating when I must uncork my mouth.

I’m told regicide is rarely chosen,

For right now the monarchy is cheap,

Safe, and retains the brain’s chemistry.

And I agree until my reliant, reeling, feeble

Mind—finds me lurking earth without its

Pill, until I have to swear I forgot, to take it.

Egg

In my palm, I squeeze it. This

may be edible, or the universe—

only one of those have been proven,

yet I do not eat; I try to see if it will

break, be the first to do something

not required. Absurd as it is,

I do not eat eggs, though they do have

as many amino acids as breast milk.

Absurd as it is, I did not drink breast

milk, or break the egg, or break

bone tissue. The moon today,

silently thanks egg, elliptic

cycles, for seeming to be effortless,

how it gains weight, and then loses it.

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Prince Bush is a poet and graduating senior at Fisk University. More poems can be found through https://pbush.com