Poem 12

We have reached a new decrepit flagstone where optimism is cruel. We can feel out the basement of structural inversion when our bodies lay out, self-entranced, unaware of the vicious correction the structural has etched into our inward gaze. Life is perturbed at the moment of ocular extraction. Fettered to the kin we worship and keep condensed between the folds of our fat satchel, ripe, foul, like yeast or feet.