THE CLOSET MYSTIC

What will I do what can I do what can anyone ever do. None of this matters. Every day I wake up with accumulated smog in my mind. Every day I wake up with soot accumulated in my eyes. I wipe with ash stained fingertips. I wash in water that looks like your spit after using that one black flouride-free toothpaste. I go and rinse myself in the filth of man. I go and wash myself in their psychic sewers. I emerge pristine. The filth isn’t mine alone.