Reflections Feasting

She turned the window inside out. And found. An eternity of eyes that had never seen anything. A pergotory of stares dissolving in a pan too hot. The drip of the naked glass so much louder than she had imagined it would be. As it seeped out of its clothes. Drop by drop. Sips of beer like onion skin carelessly tracing my thought. In fragments of punctuation. In epiphanies that can't recall. What I learned from them.

Little pats of butter melted. Turning brown. In pans gotten too hot.

In bit of breakfasts I can't recall. Men toasted. Warm. And half way down my throat. Before I knew I was choking.

And when it was too late. I was glad.

To find an end.