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Description
He puts the dirt in dirty blond,
Playing thrombosis pong
Sittin’ in filthy long-johns

All day finger drumming hard,
Slow and even every hit
Causing pupil shake-
A hewn-heavy hate
Building a sharp groove with
Broke harmonium bevels
Flanking overgrown gate
Gasping lung-filled gravel
Ground cover awaits his weight
Crowns his pate with
Impossible to satiate fate
Grown accustomed to years
Like a meaty,
Paper mâché membrane
Layering fears on tears
Seared dreary jeers myriad,
Period,
Punctuates his puncture wounds
With vulgar platitudes
Scatting up and down the
The concrete vault of his mind
Echoing his own horrid endlessness-

A temple of shattered sound,
Damning memories,
And yet somehow

so much less.