The waste products of the body: Hair and fingernail We sit in a worn tea room drinking worn tea Chipped China, chipped China “You just need to get laid” He says “Your eyes look dull, and the hair lifeless and torn” My heart break, my hearts breaks and my mouth breaks And opens like a clam
I say nothing but this is the day when pearls start growing Underneath my fingernails, like under ice. Frozen I can almost hear something And in the night my hair slowly melts to piss: Slowly, lock by lock A golden shower The body remembers: In a distant memory I have hair all the way down to the ground Probably because I’m lying on the bathroom floor But I imagine it is fastened there To the floor boards And I think to myself: “This is where is come from?”
The floor is old: Wooden, old, worn All the walls creaking in the wind Let’s steer this ship home