swamp

Gustaf Munch-Petersen: The Lowest Country

I have a soul –

for over a year

I have twisted and turned it,

writhed it and smoothed it –

 

the more I scrubbed,

the cleaner it became –

the more I stabbed,

the more it hurt –

and I noticed this

with worry and seriousness –

 

meanwhile

my body spouted

useless semen

onto the innocent –