Eviction

Casting gregarious intention on a self righteous blasphemer,
and selling his soul to the lowest bidder.
Draped in an intangible gown of chains,
worn at the sullen dinner party,
fit for the fisting couplet clipped on the bedpost.
Fucked by the bereavement of cancer,
wading in a pool of indisposition,
and caught by the ice pick,
two inches deep in the coffee mug of quicksand gorged through your pores.
Immersed in a concept indicted by migrant workers of the relinquished boarding house,
two blocks down: apartment number point three.
Thriving on the filth that feeds this never-ending pentathlon.
Jilting the one that feeds you.
Breathing through straws.
Clog the pipes and turn on the water.