Sorry I tossed it in the can;
it looked so vulgar, so insipid
with arbitrary rips. ‘Twas bent
& crumpled, too. You’ll hardly miss it,
¿will you? You could e’en see right through
it—not a color whatsoe’er.
So throw the tethers with the feathers.
No, I like my locks a lot—
& I’ll have you know, the cost
that “insipid” wrapper held
beat the sum of all you’ll sell.
Burning, now I bring you hell.
Now, keep digging.
¿How? Neat rigging.
¡Ow! Beats stripping.
Ciao. (Deep swigging.)
& now they tell me that I’m dying.
& now I see that no one’s buying.
& now I watch the drainpipes crying.
But now I watch the plastic winding.
Roll me through your slop,
bounce atop my cot,
make my blood veins clot,
taste spoiled pastel chalk.
& still I don’t know when to stop…
«A todo el mundo,
a todo mis amigos:
I have to stay here,
I have to stay clear.
—Gigadecay, «Disparando sudor.»