JESSE JUNE

I held a wizard’s wand in my hand.
Striped in green and white with a sharp tongue.
I pour onto the page.
A honey and vanilla candle tickles the air.
Classical jazz softly floats
my right-hand skates the page
Sat on the table, my sharpener
full of sliced wood.
Sweet strawberry slides on my tastebuds as I write.
Balancing everything all at once.
My mind spews like a mighty waterfall.
I write like a disciple,
sweating like a convict in an interrogation room.
Smiling teeth like a hyena.
When a pencil is in my hand