Rhythm

Rhythm, a sequence in time repeated, featured in dance: an early moving picture demonstrates the waltz. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In hell, the days are different—

you have to wash cars

or shave shirts, etc.

The rhythm in crime waves

expels

a desiccant

a cheat

to thrill

and if one kills one,

who goes there?

And if one

just now fucks up

and dies

does mercy hide it?

Sex is rhythm too, so is

making love

and masturbation—

the pacification of

to and fro

of up

and down

and in and out.

My routine is rhythm and I

know me, and when it

stops, I stop too.

Hell has

no rhythm, you have to smoke

stars, or eat ribbon, etc.

The dog resting barrel-rolled

on the cool

covered

concrete

chest     rises      and

falls

a snort

and a little heart

beats.

A pour without

spilling

a slow dance

reciting the Pledge—

all rhythms.

The days are

different in hell,

the moon can’t clock them, what is

probably

missed most.