There's a **** on the sheets of the bed where I sleep
Here’s black on my chair where once white fabric leaped
There’s the wrapper of some chips on a trash I won't upkeep
Herein thinks a brain, but the rest will still be me

There's shower one: down the drain, months of ****
Here's leaning teeth ignoring piles of floss kits
There's another week missed to get hair that fits
Herein rest bangs who might be cut in a bit

The Bug Wrecks
Sunless, fasting on shame
Eclectic, abhorrent
Asking for more
Masking some sick twist
Dying and pleading
Concealing a dark trick
Obsessively ignored
Twisting any door
Deliberate, silent form
Manipulative, breaching norms
Carrapasstic entrapment
Detracted of blame
The Bug Wrecks
Itself, inside of its flame

There's the meltdown starting with nothing’s absence
Here’s demented ravings after sketching my distance
There's some cryptic word mystics to plain flippant lies
Herein stead leads my dread of a make believe sky

There's the **** this and the **** that
Here's the mourn fiscal to fiscal-detach
There's the moth treading addiction en-masse
Herein some small house that bug has aroused

The Moth Let’s
Collapse pass
Dugout, running
Adjacent is feeling
Oasis’ these queasings
Dying and pleading
Sequester the ‘yes please’
Misdirect so death eases
Repressing life’s thank you’s
Suggest that you see me
Flee with me to being
Beneath me, your choosing
Release be to no one
The Moth Let’s
Me reconcile

There's the sleeping of poems into unquenchable moans
Here's me un-agreeing to the fixing of those
There's professional sadness of proverbial bones
Herein tells a someone maladjusted to pain

There's the bird, no better than some insect
Here's my sweat with every form of misstep
There's two eyes with two legs to imprison
Herein my life these words make a fiction