Repulsion at rhyme
The obscenity of two almost wholes:
A rhyme that reminds you that something could
almost be making it, and that extols
this near-oneness. As if a vessel stood
bubbling, full of intestines and of slime
on the altar for that which must follow.
Is fully prepared. It whines like a rhyme.
That very rhyme. An echo that’s hollow.
How I hate it: The photograph copy
of what a second later death’s possessed
the self-created invisible guests
that suck from it. The bed with the body.
I must get this madhouse to loose its hold.
Myself, the sheet and the toes that are cold.
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