down here in the mud
nary a thing grows
peering out across
this barren plot
I wonder how many times
I ate my own feces
and sucked my tongue
as if it were my
mothers nipple
pining for a change
accepting what always is
never gaining repute
even with a crowd
watching the swirl
of brine and indifference
fomenting these thoughts
to whomever would listen
pissing away a life
that should be well
but gathers cobwebs
from lack of urge
postulating in silence
talking to shadows