These Contortionists

As if I thought I would ever say
Not tongue in cheek
Watch your fucking mouth
You're smoothly spreading anxiety
Like butter to my toast
Only too much
It's dripping
Why create a vehicle
For butter
When you could just let it run
Down your throat
Forget the toast
It's so much easier to cram
Butter
exclusively - unless
You have run into
That curious problem:
Filler
What makes the particle board
Solid
Is what makes your life
Seem

Solid

Your Swiss cheese
existence

Not good enough

You must
Send out
Protrusions
Spikey no no's
Abrasion makers
Stirrups and spurs
Your mouth
A foul place
To make a home

Same for you, sir
Your bacon, egg and cheese
Occupying the space
That pure rainwater
Would usually surf
Inside my nares
A more natural odor
Somewhat mildewy
and gray
Your colorful sandwich
A much different scent
To wake up to
Your mouth
A graveyard
At nine a.m.
Your spare tire
Not spare
Unless we end up in a desert
with only water
Or a concentration camp
Or upon an ocean with only a raft
Then
You win
In all other cases
Whatever is rotting
In this collective body
Will kill us all
Either coming in
Or coming out
Going in
Or
Going out
Coming up
Or
Going down

the filler

will kill

us all
--
7.21.09