A Note on Hygiene

Wash your Fucking hands
cause lord knows you’re picking your nose all the time

I see you

you smell like hair
and I can’t tell
what’s issuing from you
and what’s wafting up
From the sidewalk

Tidy is not a word
that comes to mind
When your name
Comes Up

But your teeth,
those maize kernels,
those snot buttered pop corns
populating your


brush dat breff
brush dat breff

DNA spin cycle that shit

compressed hormonal profile
unpacked til we yakked
the reminder that we’re all made
of Bologna and Star Dust
Offal and Precious Metals
strung together
on vile sinews
and Juicy Tissues:

A Marionette
of soft, vulgar
Jewels set
in Aspic.


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