15.2.14

Put Away Monkish Things

--
in your heart of hearts
--liver of synaptic spark
in my gutter of gut instinct--

who among us has not lost
their thread at first light
or twilight's last gleaming?

never sated, never filled by gorging
or cleansed by the purge:
compulsion held in check
only by stalemate habits

burn the fat clean off
in naked incident

scrape the smug smirk off
your gratitude, please?
--