#2,489 This Pit

People I do not know that
well unload into my pit of
other in-fillings –
a dump
of wronged-selves
[as if a
re-course is set in my soul
& theirs to fill from] –
now
sip from my tipped cup of
sorrows –
they will pour a
poison for a man –
served
stories are re-born –
fatter
tongues spit ‘em
[as tales
are spun finer than silk to
make a soft hanging rope
to spin sinners with] –
My
hole’ll stink with death &
torsos’ll swing above
& a
stranger will tip his lovers
& wives –
spent by a knife
& wrist –
into my filling pit