slumlord gets his jollies by the tongues of eels
zapping his wingnut wallet with electrodes
made of granny's pulled tooth fillings, he has loads of wire
running up his spine into an attic of greed
hoarding toxic trophies of moments recalled in the corporate sense,
filling pillows with shredded insulation and chickenwire
snippings salted sweetly remotely fathoming
doom in a slough shaped black hole of conscience
tarred with the beasts he liquefied
to make the glue of contracts shat in disappearing shit
ejecting from his every movement
2017
Portland
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