as i sat down at the table
i pulled out my pinky and my thumb
my p's and my q's
16 babies to seduce
we cling to what we know
here all that is mine
are my sick little monsters
running about inside
in clinging i love and am devoured
bit by aching piece
the intrinsic moral values
of truths must hide
deep in the pits of teeth
i've yet to see them
they do not work alone
one single canine
cannot fight off a pack
if they do hide there
in the body's hardest knowing
then they are rotten
for what good are they?
running is slow, then sudden detachment
not an action, a broken story-dream
a slowly creeping nightmare growing
refusing to be seen
no one needs me
for i am all in need
a small dog on
hind legs
begging to please
nothing can come soon enough
all like oranges
perfectly round in their hands
but between here and there
time is so long stretched
that my pretties are all
rancid and worm eaten...
the best of intentions, i know
'When thou cam'st first, thou strok'st me and made much of me...''
-that...the entire speech...it's me...i feel...like him...