sharp, angular smells lodge like
tetris pieces in my nostrils.

raster effect of blinking eyes;
objects like rocks in some
sterile japanese garden,
gravelly pixels rippling
outward concentrically.

When I hold my breath and
push outward against my eardrums
I can hear the roar of my
inner furnace.

My teeth are maybe the weirdest
part of my body-landscape of flavor;
I try not to think of them.
(Is this why dentists drink
themselves to death?)

You ask me how I feel today?
Lips and cock, lips and cock.