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Accurate Appreciations of Current Conditions


by XXXX


I appreciated the abject abyss 
of my blue bowl 
this morning and made up my mind 
to measure how many times 
I stared down the dismal, damp 
drain for the day. 

I pondered my pee perhaps 
eight times, which, if not 
indicative of a case of kidney carries, 
certainly says I should seek to stray 
far more frequently, and 
oppose the opposition against opportunities 
to stare south in strange bowls, 
part from the pristine, plain, placid 
safety of my usual shitting-station,
on all fronts flanked by air fresheners, 
tissue, and tiles. 

My mother met me this morning 
as I lay a mangled, unmoved, 
formless, festering faggot of flesh and fat, 
as if I were some canrivorous cancer 
at the folds of the fabric of space; 
and she said: "Is this all you plan to do this summer?" 

I said, "Sure." 
She said, "Soon you will be gone from this house." 

If she meant I will merely 
switch spaces, and live still 
in this way-without-waywardness, 
in perpetual pre- and post-peril--
even considering the standards of 
the post-industrial, post-modern world--
then surely I am susceptible to self-inflicted 
ingestion of some strong poison, 
or swallowing glass to incise my guts, 
or splattering my brains all over the house
in some scarlet spray,
if not drown in the density of my own dread
and desire. 
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