Past Tense Poem by Rita Cerniglia

Little pale feet so cold and full of flight
tredding across the golden apples of the sand.
Anguish step each black dissolving white,
a surface grey surmounting into bland.
Regrettable these coffee calluses I've made.
The aspirin anthems fading through my glass.
Each crystal nurse a Neural pulse had numbed,
allowing each and every thought to 'pass.'
Each adjective, each verb, and every noun,
pronouns all, and exclamations, 'yes! '
No conjunctions were ever to be found.
Prepositions proved an elusive guess.
Released in a dictionary diarrhea furiously,
a conscious White-Out spill blankets my head.
I want to tell you of my life, but curiously
all that I can think to say is '-Ed.'