Follow the Yellow Brick Road-
trace fingers smoothly over the glass
stuttering nails on millilitre measurements
eked out to count steps taken in liquid indulgence.
fingering glassware like worry stones
Blacktar to treacle to maple to oil,
and I'm melting, melting
My straw coloured satan,
brick by brick or drop by drop,
leaving me dreaming in poppy fields.
But I'm the wicked witch
with the wizened, waifish skin
My Emerald City is bruise-blue
raised and stung where rivers dried up
in the creases of my elbows
leaving my arms collapsing,
and me, searching a fragile frame
for open roads.
I can click my heels all I want
I still need the needle to bring me home.
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