Not enough breath to breathe anymore,
Not enough strength to heave anymore.
Retching that thing into the sink,
Wretched call on the telegraph-
Morse code rapping and tapping upon the sink.

Pounding away at muscle and vet,
Unbelief in the idea of death-
Slowly rests as a crown on head.

Hard-line in a closing stall
Best of all- sold out, capital fall
Production has ended on all accounts,
A poison fountain now springs out.

And as the sickness becomes-
Both a synonym for you; and for disturbed
Spile: not mild ash within
Spills over: magma dharma
Pray it will end.

Along the seashore, as he was

moving through the sands,
encountered this exquisite
shiny green demijohn, corked
snugly with a small piece of
an old, dry parchment in it.
getting excited, he pulled the
extra tight spile open. Taking

it out of the bottle, spreading
nicely the curled up paper, on

a dry space he could find, he

began reading the words scrawled
on it. The paper read, "Whomsoever,
this paper shall find, shall simply
throw it back into the sea. Humour."
lacking clarity, he did as was told
exactly. Bottled the message into the sea.

Corpses follow me everywhere
Every step is dread on the stair
Me and empty airs always a pair
What do they care

Gods in a zero and ego is the one
Encoded on the sconce carved in bone
Digits grasp at scripts, flicker on the tome
This is no home

Shadow tints off its sheen a wraith
Misty eyes drown a foggy faith
Murdochs docket was a taste
Billions with a face

Senses made listless buzzed and restless
Rinse the gristle till its sodden an lifeless
Spawn pence on a trumpets estrus
Bile wins the race

Air flows through a blue spile
Just leave the corpse on its pile
Ghetto birds nest outside landfills
You'll stay awhile

States of matter are caged, slain, and in pain
State of a master gated golden ghoulish grins
State your worth state it at birth and begin
To not matter is sin

Plaque in the heart black is the art
Cannibals at work called it wal-mart
Consummate greed and our worst part
She's a ****, a ****

A vote another class war lost at the poll
A painful visual till the orbs sunk into my skull
Wistful introspection absorbed into my own soul
Blind to the quiet cull