Its like a cool wave of sludge
That bottoms out and trickles in
Like the pecking of a fresh cut hen
Twisting and turning
In the order of cycles of thorns
Popping and starting
The phase of manifestation
But abruptly halting.

Its a sensation we cannot really quite express
But find ourselves turning away in bed
Or fighting back the feeling or irritability
While the littlest soldiers inside
In the crevices of the blood red lagoon
Allow a weeping or nearly forms watery tears
To corner and then despair.

Its a feeling we can't quite explain
Society echoed and told us
To be filled with shame
At the prospect of our *****
Revamping and renewing
Revamping and renewing.

So throw a goggle into
The pits of mother earth
Stop the stopper up
And we urge the peace
And acne break outs
To relent
And start again

Next month.