Lost Translations

Lost Translations between friends,
three ghostly beads, interrupted
between 1:00 am, 2:00 and 3:45.
Black toe nails, two, on either foot,
standing underneath a canopy, of
butterscotch flavored hair.
One small, red artery, perched
between two turquoise stones.
Cookie-smelling-sandalwood-fingers,
are pushing a huge stone up my esophagus
to shatter my skull and lodge in my eye sockets.
The shards pour out.
ripping two chests, tearing two hearts,
asunder.
Hurtful mornings, periwinkle-colored
plastic glasses, with condensating
refrigerator waters. Evenings, untying
throaty knots.
Yellow writing pad, decorated with,
permanent black ink.
Translations lost between friends.