H2CO

Sometimes the machinery breaks down.

a girl at work got caught in the cogs yesterday
of the clockwork that keeps the world turning round;
the heart that keeps the earth marching in time
skipped a beat
and i tripped
and i fell
and i scraped my knee and upon further inspection
(honestly the smell is quite hard to hide)
i beheld a trickle of embalming fluid
oozing from these ragged veins
instead of red, red blood
and when i went to the washroom to clean up
i noticed a sinister pallor to my features,
a darkness and a coldness to the meat i call my face
and since then i've seen the futility ripe in every movement
of every face that has passed here before me
something in the human waste of the great american dream
something in the detritus, the shit and decay
something in the vicious cycle of the modern ouroboros
in human weakness
and taedium vitae
has this life, this world and i at an impasse.
i've got no need for snake-oil salesmen
and formalin dreams.