_______

How so, when the flak ingrains the sack,
promiscuous rotunding begins anew,
the diluted mate-call, torrential
even as it is pleasantful.

Ethereal shapeforms recedes, torn
from the complete fraility of my
emotions. And yet frail as it is,
life is nothing if not that.

I look and I see whole clumps of metal
stuck into me. Grab one, join the rest
for the metal's free. And the effort to
see the act is too much for most.

Do I not confect?

© Luqman Lee /June 2003