i couldn't sleep
4 a.m.
i shut my eyes
cursing
that's when baudelaire's ghost
showed up
he had some poor shit's soul
under his one arm & in the other
a phantom cheese grater
he kept shaving soul motes
over my face
sprinkling flakes beneath
my weary lids
& as my eyes grew heavier
he began whispereing
misanthropic slogans in my ear
"the body isn't a temple
it is a shithouse"
& so on & so forth...
i awoke at 11 a.m.
rewired like a motherfucker