TOO MUCH

Surplus seeps like winethrough a calabashdripping as though beads of sweat, spilt like the guts of martyrs -overflowing from  too much... Excess:things,people,places....we subsume thingsthey consume us. Satietyis no longer surfeit -there's always the gaping mouth- urchined lips curled,pulsating in the underwater sea bed of vacuity always wanting more, more and still more... BjR  December 7 '09