Wednesday, October 15, 2014

SAUER

Gnawing—I suspect
a good bit 
more

intently  
than I meant—on the scrawny thin 
pith of a toothpick

in my kitchen—alone
I supposed
until presently visited

by this—situationless feeling;
of first each 
and then every

teeming gland
beginning to itch 

up and down—howling
ululating twitching—until
a billion bloody vessels dilating

pulsing—then squeezing
tighter
to strangle 

tiny drops 
of salty water—
out of both corners 

of my two big ugly mock eyeballs bugging-
out over 
hot nostrils 

now bawling after 
whatever—
incredible disaster 

is fermenting 
away—over there
in a fruitfly feted 

crock in the pale corner.

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