Biohazard Remediation

(originally posted September 10th, 2014)

This bread won’t stop crumbling. These glaciers won’t stop fragmenting. The world will not forestall its turning. This freeway won’t stop clogging. The lateness will not abate, and the boss won’t keep from angering. The job will not avoid dead ending, and that suburban angst grown up with, it maintains its retention. The silverware continues to dirty. Continues to break. Continues to be lost in little moves, big moves, and then moves to other countries where the customs agents are assholes. The shower evades warming, thinks itself better cold, deflating and frigid. The kids can’t pry their eyes from their phones, no, better, they can’t even get born. The wedding keeps getting postponed. The grossness envelopes until it causes vomit, but the viscera still needs scrubbing. The first wash-up lasts for over a day. The separatists think of no other methods than suicide bombs. The blood sticks to the walls like syrup and jelly mixed and mixed together and then jettisoned by catapult to this uncleanable surface. The friends refuse not to grin, then ask about welfares. The jerked-off smile fails to convince.

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