with a hose

no one will ever find you

The smell of your carrion hangs low in the street

weeks of returning to relax in the meat

Butchery/morgue meets day-spa retreat



The smell of the carnage

begin the excretement

Choice picked tidbits of ligaments

I mix for an afternoon sludge soup

constantly craving, needing to eat shit



No escape from this place

life condemned to rot

pulpy ulcerous filaments

gagged snot and clots