Here, inserting words into the toilet Words you don't like anymore The one's you could do without|wasted words|the one's you love the most
I wanna grow full in a toilet of sin A white night precedes me in this wanton wiggle my hips have gathered
You have stasis and I have nine Where are your morals now?
The architecture of debris: Debris is trees If you get caught in the flow, you become debris.
you are the wound spray of my debris basin
Asleep thigh while reading lies in news makes me want to get off the toilet, but I'm stuck Can't move
that’s the toilet for you
Frank Sauce
- By Jeffrey Bershaw
- from Portland, OR
- I'll try to write as little as possible. I'm a little man with high hopes, pipe dreams and little machines inside that keep me writing.
- More About Frank Sauce
- Painting by Anna Todaro
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