heaving and tiresome flesh

pools of sweat beneath a fabric thick and unyielding

matted hair adheres to the face white as snow
lifeless    
          cold

so on this Day,
from the winding of the last Day,
the reserve runs low

from the nose it runs
mucus trills
and trills
mucus bleeds and bile exudes

from the machine within
pumping of an instrument finely tuned
created and voided and recreated in the dark

the collective invention and possession of our Creators

in the mind a stolen meter is kept
a sleepless city will light the way

a post-drip taste only One can know true
and ever so softly does it pour from      You