heaving and tiresome flesh
pools of sweat beneath a fabric thick and unyielding
matted hair adheres to the face white as snow
lifeless
cold
so on this Day,
from the winding of the last Day,
the reserve runs low
from the nose it runs
mucus trills
and trills
mucus bleeds and bile exudes
from the machine within
pumping of an instrument finely tuned
created and voided and recreated in the dark
in the mind a stolen meter is kept
a sleepless city will light the way
a post-drip taste only One can know true
and ever so softly does it pour from You
