Leper, Myth, Savvy, Shit.

Porcelian dolls and Chinese stalls,
are what is left to shock and appall.

And though I fret,
and crawl to sleep,
this masochistic
drop is steep.

To bludgeon one's self
is rendered fit,
to classify one's
class as savvy myth.

And creep I might
a bitter step
with grace behind me,
what body's left.

Transfer my blisters
and pixels to paint.
A smeared appearance of wall--a saint.

Of rusty joints and senseless
quotes.
Of leper beaut and selfless
goals.

To shank these myths
is what I find
a better day
just left behind.

I'm coming home,
but with what, I regret.
A clearer view,
A clearer debt.