Weary and resentful,
To reply to the fatuous observation,
Must I uncurl, crawl
From my sublime cell
Deep in labyrinthine guts
Where I huddle for warmth and peace,
To fill the sagging crumpled sack
Which performs the necessary functions
Unbidden and unknowing, until its master returns.
Crack!
As my gargoyle features,
Brittle and broken,
Mould into appropriate wryness.
Then the spirit is longing again
For soft and secure tubes,
To slide and slither back
Into the misshapen womb
Of gurgling gases, hissing secrets.

Somewhere out there is wind,
	Piercing like acupuncture, bleeding like leeches,
	Screaming with the gaping mouth of the world.
Somewhere out there is cold,
	Aching with hollow bones, biting feeding hands,
	Grinding down the cogs of the world.
Somewhere out there is love,
	Teaching and healing, raping and snaring,
	Feeding the pumping hearts of the world.