"The Thrilla in Manilla."
Sanitary napkins on the wall,
not unlike the little freshness packet,
or the lemon scented things from the rib joint.
Excavate the sauce, please.
Dripping with sauce.
Getting fingerprints everywhere.
"What in the world have you been eating?"
I eat dreams and crap memorandums.
"The Unswerection on the Predeliction."
"Kill the body and the head will die."
A kind of fluid evacuation, an emission,
an omission, an indecision.
"Do boys menstruate?"
They lining us all up for a menstrual show, with memos circulating and all that, lining us up for their petty privileged convenience.
The Grey Belt.
"And the people bowed and prayed,
to the neon god they made."
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