A poem by Otto Dusquene

Straight position to piss in the sink

Crazy

Follow the men

For trifles

They fall in

Their executioners,

Which drain the blood

Of the individual

They stumble,

Abrutal,

In their own inconsistencies

Of a useless life,

In the big void

Dishwashers and dishes,

Valets in uniform,

Merchants of haberdashery

We manufacture our own condition and

It’s with this burden, on the back,

That we walked, sunken eyes,

Sifting apples and pears,

We will never catch