an old man who needed help with the garbage

a piece of

crap in my left eyeball a piece of

broom that a Spanish man from work

breathed in to my face,

i sat in a

tall room, shrank at his weakness

i

twitched somewhere on the ceiling.

it was a sponge on my back that

glowed orange, drooled clear, the

top of the room kept me up there

high-loose in its spatter,

i can see other

shoulder blades and ankles,

caked dust and other filth,

and and and up here i melt,

the man too delicate to dispose,

i melt and we give, and we soften.