Contaminated.
Surely more Macbeth than Banquo.
Level two: Lust.
**** **** **** knock and bang
at the door, for more.
Of what?
What of skin?
What about blood-shot eyes, coated tongue, sore back, bad-breath,
harsh light, pants too tight,
legs itch.
Fidget, twitch;
unnatural movements.
Unlike waking up,
joking, smoking on the porch.
Fancy coffee, cinnamon cakes.
Nothing black or heavy on my face.
Purity, hung-over purity.
----------------------------------------------------
Roaming the streets, alone.
Constantly, consistently, alone.
Dancing to my own accordion tune.