love constipated

Nov. 24, 2005



Love doesn’t last

Or brew in the tract

Forever.


There are muscles

That keep it moving.

From sitting to still

From fermenting.

In the gut of grace.



Once it reaches the stomach

Feelings of lust.

Time becomes the juices

That break it down.

As untouched balls

Begin to bust




Push.

Love is labour.

Contract the love

Through your guts.


And through it all

At the end all

Squeezed through neumours viscera


Misery is born.