lay back
in the tub
and stare
at the ceiling-
so is the giant
of sleep
threatening your eyes,
and washing away the day
so cool
so casual
goes the scrubbing of the genitals
before you wipe at the asshole
and lick your lips for
another swipe
black death laughing
stinging your eyes
melting the shit from the skin
in a lathered revival
of washcloth tragedy
hum a song,
a funeral march
beat your hands
against the tub
in a syncopated
rhythm
that rhymes with
frustration
bob your head
to the beat
of the palm
and cleanse the spirit
once more
lap at the suds
like a foamy beer
and piss away
the last incarnation
of Christ
in this war of words
that's got you worked
up like a dog
bend,
pull the plug,
and watch it all
drain away
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