One wall of a cold cement cell is missing
And all of the prisoners stare out into the open,
Into the searing light.
Into the tinge of air
Unperfumed with the sweat of sleep.
Overhead, the florescent light
So sickly fluttering,
The pale blue luminescence with not even a lie of heat,
is dominated.
The prisoners squint into the light of the world beyond their lonely cell.
Crushed together,
Shoulder to shoulder
without room to move an arm to scratch an itch.
Noses that held the raw scent of ammonia
are teased with the prospect of being washed clean with the scents of animals
dirt
and manure.
Their tense shoulders relax
and the cell releases a sigh
into the world.
A lung holding stale air
for way too long
finally gets to breathe.
A smile crescents their faces,
and with whole hearted contentment
they watch
as brick
by
brick
The wall is rebuilt.
The single brick layer's back is dropped with sweat
of the sun bearing down.
The prisoners are smeared with prespiration
of sleeping too long with no ventilation.
Without a goodbye,
the world is gone
and the prisoners have already forgotten about it.

I was already late
When the time to leave the party
came around.
As my foot passed over the threshold
it landed on crumpled paper
and stuffing from the furniture
they tore open.

I looked around the empty room,
strewn of course
with broken glass
of bottles
of cheap wine
and *****.

One or two stragglers had staked a claim
to the last two chairs not completely maimed
in the struggle
of having a good time.

Their faces blank of personality,
gave notion
that the real people
had long since left them
behind as well.

Pounding bass struggled to boom,
but rasped sadly
from the rattling broken speaker.

I ask one of the stragglers
about a black haired girl
who came up to my shoulder
and they both say she left with a guy.

A plain round clock
was hung on a close wall
it's plastic lens shattered
and the hands stopped
at ten minutes before I entered.

I jumped off a bridge
and broke my neck on contact
and didn't even get the chance to drown.

A huge centipede crawls across the floor
He is black
and his legs are orange.
He is enormous
12 inches
Maybe more

And he rears back and attacks the feet of the passers-by
And they smile and reach down and pat him.
They smile.
And he bites their hands.

Their hands swell up around the two deep punctures,
which are swollen up over, the only sign left being two tiny oozing wrinkles.
The purple hands are polka dotted with yellow and dying veins.
They admire the plethora of color that is now their hand.
From the pain they lust for more and more pain and more and more pain.

They rise from their overstuffed red sofas to the middle of the floor and trade blows.
A girl of twenty with black curly locks falls to the ground with a wet thud
and summons the centipede who bites her in the cheek, piercing the paper thin flesh.

He gets a strong hold on her face and drags her across the floor.
She giggles in delight!
The centipede rips her limb from limb and
She giggles in delight!

Another wet thud.
She had a puffy purple companion in a moment as the centipede drags to her a young man of twenty-one.
Fate!
Their lips meet
and their saliva, thick and curdled mixes.
They giggle in delight!
As the centipede rips them limb from limb.
You look like you're losing weight!
The centipede is finding it.

He eats all but their skulls,
shining in a thin layer of blood,
picked clean of flesh
Locked in a sweet embrace of phantom lips
Until a pugilist twitches his leg in an awkward defensive maneuver and sends the girl's skull spinning across the floor
until it hits against a white wall with a crack
and it splits.

Party-goers begin to trip over the centipede.
And with every wet thud on the floor
another skull is left to be an obstacle for fluid movement.
The centipede has to coil up to be able to fit in the room.

And soon there is one pugilist left
And he scratches the centipede's shiny black metallic and spackled red back with a mangled mass of knuckle
and yellow poisoned veins.
The centipede rears back
But falls back on itself out of its own sheer weight
and its back snaps,
spraying the finalist with a mix of entrails of bug and human kind.

Caress my bottom,
sweet Blue,
and cling to me in the private,
strong
sensible way only you know how to do.
When I cross my legs,
hold my thighs,
and press me to open back up to the world.
When I walk,
Walk with me,
and keep me from giving the world my dignity
to do with what they so cruelly will.
But foremost,
deliver me from the evil
of catching myself in your fly.