04
Dec
13

capitalistic vanity

grasp the doorknob and pull of
the late 20th Century labia
the same results
don’t budge a push
next
turn the knob to the squeak
go tumbling
unprecedentedly free
from a jug
the same dark words
ontologically shuffled
that they are googled
that reflect their culture
the whatsoever open-sniffing
the aroma of a fish with his fingers
pickled potatoes into pieces
signs of heat
wisps of steam
roses from the circumstances
to the characters of commodity
untouched breakfasts
unforeseen lunches
licking his fingers
a platter within the context of language
a deserted ocean with her bare hands
scoop it up
stuff it into his mouth
warm remnants down her spine
crippling losses
hobbling smells
swing the upper half of her body
with no twisted taste
the hundreds of jam or butter
to say it differently

-th


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