MORNING SHOWER

Fluid of filth. Downward
spirals the smut soup,
a swivel, steadily
shrinking, out of
my house, my
life.

***

At night, when the sun seizes staring,
Monsters I buried in the morning
rise and dance the dance of 
dreaded, delirious 
honesty

to the beat of regurgitation
as I watch, lip-licking,
now with no need
for feigning
horror:

teeth stuck in meat,
mouths stuck as 
smiles, swords 
stuck in 
heads,

(dicks
 
stuck 

wherever.)

They fling their bodys
their grime their
earth the r  weat
al  m nic body f uids
b dy  a ts e  h ric gai
n ng  l ght  i gs  f t
r  b     a   ls,

       ,
        ,           . 



 ((((i))))    
 
            ******

      __i____    

    
    /////         
                I-
       ...
 
  I.
    
I wake up disgusting,
a pig wallowing in rustled bedsheets,
hard and feathered.

"You must never be seen like this",
says The Mirror On The Wall.
"Never."

I reach for the shovel leaning against the sink.

***

My Deep Sea Oddities,
swallowed by a shower drain.
Your beloved Goldfish, 
flushed down a toilet.
 
Today, they might meet each other,
down in the sewers, the public
stream of subconsciousness,
screaming beneath the
much too thin roads
on wich we drive 
to work.