As a blind blind draws
and crows amuse themselves on the refuse of others
as ink injects through and through
as oil in milk
and you, fucker?
And me?
Crowley’s clambering shadow
and Xeno’s expert architecture
how droll, and rank
the stink; growling degradation
as blood, as skulls crumbling like dust
as coiling entrails, steaming twinkling waterfall
as curdling food rises to my throat at the thought
And you fucker?
How does the bile taste? The ephemera?
How does it feel to write a poem and smile?
How does it feel to sing and dance and fuck?
How does it feel to snort, smoke, inject?
How does it feel to remain unsatisfied?
And you fucker?
Sit unchained in your easy chair
Sit me sad outside a door, knocking
Sit before a broken typewriter
Sit in the wilderness, in a log, buried in mud
as the dust
and the putrid
and the exhaustion
and you fucker
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