Delicious All Day

Your Body, Actually

for HC



There is only so much content at hand

and life has become very straightforward.



One option unfolds another: touch me and die.

Reassuring as a sinkhole, totally.



Seasons come on as a sausage restaurant,

hopeful, with all its blinding trinkets



and inherited imagery. No other replies needed.

We are living in a post-sacred age, so it's official,



nothing is sacred. It's official: leather pyjamas.

Go away, thoroughly, where winds have worn



deserts to a whistle, rocks shaped to a gesture.

How many rugs were pulled from under us?



And will we know a burning platform among

all this interference, this life of soft graft.