With a hose
no one will ever find you
the smell of your carrion hangs low in the street
weeks of returning to relax in the meat
butchery/morgue meets day-spa retreat
the smell of the carnage
begin the excretement
choice picked tidbits of ligaments
i mix for an afternoon sludge soup
constantly craving, needing to eat shit
no escape from this place
life condemned to rot
pulpy ulcerous filaments
gagged snot and clots