I bore it well, after not having been wet all over in twenty-four years.
Showerbox
Stink when you have to
Fish oiled fingertips
Or musk- crammed fissures
Recline in socks that barely hide your fungussed-feet
And blink as flakes of wax wisp from your ears
Human bean
Being
Warm with life that murmurs forth in waves of muck
Burgeoning blisters of ulcers
Microorganisms upon your skin
Make colonies and picnic
In the yellow scabs behind the rose of your ears
Instead of warfare with soap, briny and burning
End your prudish parade
And join the filthy merrymaking
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