How many schisms
does it take to change a light bulb,
that gray irritant in the shade,
that fray behind diffused glass,
incandescent once, but burned,
but burned out?

Twist the *****, **** you,
dare you take the **** thing out
and pop it on the floor,
such joyous crack, this glass ever thin,
this wire-mocked glow, exploded
as air seeks to neutralize the vacuums,
seeks to restore among the vacuous,
these lumens built to fade.