If the taste of tea
was a house, how
would the wallpaper look?
I do not mean metaphor.
I mean look, at your taste
of tea, say, a ruddy Earl Grey,
and tell me its textures,
its colors.
I sit on the back porch
of the taste of tea. A hole
forks the board next to me.
Green light rises
from beneath.
The taste of tea
is make-believe
for everyone but
me. A contractor asks,
do I own this house
of taste? Then,
I was cast out by the
question. Now,
it seems foolish.

Martin Conte has been published in Sixfold, Glitterwolf Magazine, Words and Images, and other literary journals. He currently lives in Portland, Maine, where he is procrastinating on two chapbooks, a novel, and a new play. You can read his confusion at

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