Like Oil

The enquiry feeds the morning guilt shaken

Foaming out with every step you take

with your mouth.

I hold my head high before plopping it down

and force myself to feel lucky to live by the little port.

I don’t feel lucky,

I don’t know myself anymore. Wasting rage into a shameful seduction, unworkable, soft, matted, stained.

To be once awakened endlessly,

prioritising a full penetrative lover: like water.

Everybody is talking about some revolution-

A fragile in and out, an eating of wounds.

At night I’m happier

to fall asleep alone again,

hard-toothed, I either take the spiritual road or the physical.

And everything is done to feed the body. I think and then enquire, and blast my Tibetan bowls playlist and hope to sweat out the night.