Consolation Prize
I need a vacation using only my body as suitcase
maybe get a colonic so I can re-pack it
full of more shit I understand the desire
for ambiguously categorized things
the muted monitoring of the flesh
like the ferryman that has a soft eye
for the wandering ascetic I can barely
sit through another summer’s dirty feet or
the pastel fiction of a picture
in the doctor’s office I can’t stand the cold
either those glacial drifts drink blood a terrible fact
but there is more clarity in the light at the end
of one day than in all the summer’s sun