Published on: 10/20/2014
creeping moderation

moderation creeps up my arm
over my shoulder blades
swallows the cropped head
that looked like a
rocky outcrop yesterday

I hear the lilting
in the background
baroque quartet making life
restful and
fucking comfortable

tomorrow is of concern
to the long-livers;
to the commuters
who buy a ticket and
sit out the journey

I will die ugly,
contorted
demonstrably uneasy
holding my balls
rubbing my belly

there will NOT
be a gathering of lost property;
a collection of vanilla straights;
there will be
tortured twins in backseats cutting

and on the Net:
jokes about Lutherans;
recipes for spoon-fed disasters;
ignoble, characterless columns
and three shrewd Salvadorians sossing