Transition Stanza

If I were on you, I'd be coming to
in a dank back alley
fully drenched in trench coated men
sacred fires sprout green and tall
burning foresters' backs

[transition stanza]

malcontent, engorged thoughts
as fat as fat laughs--fat as fat brats
in the 3rd world, fat with fat cats
reign this
chubby, clubbing sick seals with fat bats
knuckle's flab fatter than fat fats' fats

fear frames photos you've left
your words stuck on the back
back in "dec em ber"
I wait
in waiting rooms with strangers
they say, strained
Uh, hey
your pants're... stained

my watery sunken eyes stare back
habitually, I repeat what I see
my back bends with pointy potato sack ends
my throat's clogged, I'm choking a dog
but still I'm waterlogged