Surrender disguises itself 
beneath red cherries 
and dusted sugar.
Pieces shatter, 
gleam on the floor,
this is truth, 
this is ice.
I hope you cut your conscience 
on the oblique angles here.
I hope the cold bars of deprivation 
slide under your skin.
Scattered down every alley you've strolled 
are the claustrophobic 'maybe's 
you shut away in boxes.
Corrode,
I'll just watch.
(I never liked red cherries 
anyway.)