there is no divisible
between red kempt hair
and fuchsia blossomings
wrapped around a rakes odd curl of flanges
rasping dead old dirt that settled
through the vines of hatred
so attached
so attached
so attacked
so attacked
by weirder permutations
than that mathematical possibility
which in arrogance once laid claim
to this universe's scythe, flipping with cold heat
against the backdoor backdrop
of a hideous shower curtain.

you
YOU
you make no sense
in the realm of those chemicals.

could be some kind of dive bar
required to be artificial
for the sake of selling numbers
by the amount of folly
witness
WITNESS
witless like they
witches like me
old and tired
but with soup instead of a tool handle,
you dumb ass motherfuckers.