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