I turn the knob and fill a tub with futility;
With no knob, shattered thing, a tub is filling — I do this to wash away my skin.
Rather, It is done, and so am I.
Fleshy flower petals float
Fleshy flower petals float in a cloud of red.
I hold a conversation, bound in leather,
and, though it speaks not to me,
[turn the prism — see the same]
To a keyhole I press my ear;
alas, no matter how I dress myself in what I hear,
The lock remains.
Pulp, dispersing in soppy velvet;
little black letters,
Sinking like bones, resting with bones.