daily grind

October 8, 2010 12:00AM

caulked to a chair nine hours and
a ‘lord these bones be creaking–
knee to muscle to blood to
rubble–ah mud.

up on the insect board,
nailed through limb yet
quivering still,
the looking glass swallows an

(laughter would be better than this)

mr god scientist writes another

and upon this speared left cheek
i bury this sitting within some imagination of
need and purpose–
hours to dollars–
nob to nubbin….

thin tendons, taught truths–
endure to the end
mutha’ fucka