full-bath blues

or the lost art of staying neat in a mess


as dry skins crawl out of nowhere
i can’t find my brain anywhere
never i know if it’s gone with autumn
this thing has now become so bothersome


the season has heralded the arrival
sixty headless men straight out of a brothel
they are coming, wearing innocent-looking disguise
they call this charade a people-friendly exercise


and now i got no place to go
and i got only all the scratches and sweat to show
and every chagrin that only a warm bathe will clean
even this bloody full bath is too much for hygiene