Sunday, February 28, 2016

countenance of rumination.

holy, holy, half of me, my blowhole
breathing, indulging
in oxygen, half of me with whom i never
disagree, let me see your roses grow
other half oh you need someone to
fix all this shit, let me see you fall into
the dirt let us cover you with bonemeal
let yourself

be dug up by a dog one day let you
haunt a corporate office. my spirit is doomed

it cannot wander the halls again, it is
to give up as to getting out of pain one day, oh this,
this, this is black mold. grate, grate
the torso unbelievable swan grace i must
deny and forego.