Past Life Regression Attempt #4 by Melanie Browne

There are Cloudless skies;
I am shoving cake in my own
mouth, faster and faster
Like a bulimic’s wet dream,
While in the distance,
An ocean of peasants
Laughs and jeers,
They want to
Use my head for
A piñata,
But then I realize,
They don’t
Play that game in France
I know I should say something
but I can’t,
I hang my head in quiet resignation,
It begins to rain,
My wig drips
Between my breasts,
The peasants head home,
Their amusement over,
I drift through the city
Dirty and alone

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