Can of ground confusion,
poured into,
seeping vats of vomit.
Whatever became of the tailor?
Will you weave,
colorful dream web,
of gilded entrails?
Brain: rotted-smelling cantaloupe.
Nothing more.
Unrelenting spasms,
frigid cruel broken down cremes,
that left a stain.
Apply carefully to head & shoulders.
Where blood has been erased.
It suddenly occurs to me!
Only disgrace is success.
Defile the flesh I inhabit!
Please…
Podcast: Play in new window | Download