Sticky dreams Of blown out bristles Fanning obtuse Becoming useless Worrying of rot Rotting of worry Tombstone teeth Sinking in pink swamp Still asleep Buried beneath Brushing hard Or hardly brushing Chewing up the stick From the rush, the constant sip Spit out something brown Sick up but hold it down Terrifying dreams Of dysfunctional routines Took the father Brushed him clean Used him up And not seen again In fresh sun rise Spittle wind Takes the mint leaves with it To cut copies of them Serve the breath Serve the mass Serve a purpose And then serve the trash A hopeful protogeau In the noble art of withering away
Quit Vision 