Settled cotton and boiling
rice in the ***
smooth of a brushed
& perfect object
which every gaze
will ever be caught
in a maze
of ever-buzzing insects.

Lit of blue flames pouring
of sick gasoline
Leaves the scorched an
over-cooked chow mein.

Light up this heretic
Light me up.

The rags smell filthy
as the rats are rancid
tucking into the poison
of  bones and teeth.

Remember when,
I asked to be a heretic?