sick.

A few bites of anything besides green salad, and i wretch.

hunger

What is it? The hunger of the body to not die? Does it have a fuse? Mine is burned. Fused in plasmatic resolution between want and vomitus.

shit

like clicks on a dirty phonograph come my memories of the past. The devils' foot stamps, a tap toed dance. A brazen horn, fiery souled and painfully born. Dust on the shelf, a box to be opened. Perhaps a spider lurks therein...Devils minituerized, shrunken down to size. We worry for nothing. Nothing.