temptation arises out of every little shower head nozzle, they seep and they search and they cloak my body


I hardly move, I harly care if it is hot, if it is cold


it’s as if the forks squeak indefinitely but the feet are handcrafted and dropping E minor on a D and calling it’s square even, female singer, butler drummer

or more like a metal rod from a factory that has somehow made it’s way into a tether ball poll, one of the ones that stands for a hundred years until a desperate housewife calls it *****- and (they replace it with a post modern neck breaking device)


I feel humbled by the stony clay that surrounds my chest and enters my fingertips



and the razors on my lips turn up at tv channels I simply detest

will this engine cease?


sometimes I wish it would