Anguish as Waffle

Anguish is a Payne’s grey waffle.

Every concave pockmark puddled with loss

overflowing with something deeper than can be dismissed

longing to be eaten but never even to be kissed.

I wish I could learn from anguish,

but it burns me,

third degree.

I can’t even heal it until I can look to see

what skin has fallen away

fully dead

cleaning the morgue

inside of my head.