A body’s work

Must throw out the whole
new thing, be it a rice dinner
or a shirtless man bent over
the pedestal of forming iron,
too much iron, like the liver
always to purge its face
through the dim gouge of night
which wakes itself half-dead
somewhat like its people,
nude then, vomiting but awake,
curled over each as the other
but nodded off like their toes
still bent over, knowing not of tense,
half-alive and curled thence
until unwashed dawn comes along
& works, works until the work is done.

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~ by Jeremy on September 11, 2010.

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