There's a sense of poison in altruism.
Marked with callous dishwasher efficiency
elbow length gloves, chipped cheap ceramics
scalding veins of undercurrent on the word
and the word is none too flattering.
My fingers always got pruney
where the hard parts had gone soft
like boiled prunes, easy to pierce and tear with my nails
peeling the dead flesh. Making a neat hefty pile.
Like I'm starting a collection
or preparing some crude mural.
I'm not sure what its for
comemorative, mourning, celebratory
obligatory?
gratuitous?
Something grotesque, you'll no doubt petition to have destroyed.
Another voice, another cross and martyr to burn.
Fitting for any new and cutting edge religion.
Fitting of any king born sovereign of none.
Just a pleasant dream slipping through me.
Just the sound of your footsteps and keys in your hand.
Nothing I can do about it now