Icy Hot

simply maddening
this thumping...
this stomping
grinding thunder...
bottles and cans
promising
lack-lustre
aspirations and fancies
rich and brilliant.
this chair
this cold blueness
this hole

this back
feebling and sore
that carries pianos
to the second flight
game-rooms
without poetic metaphor.
just grunts and gasps
with every
sweat groaned step.
creases-
like back roads
and muddied ruts-
where they
oughtn't've been
layed.

face and hands
iron and steam
soap and rag
miles and miles to go
until fevered
epiphanies
in the shower.

sweat pours
like sweet water
slip-slap
slopping
my gritted stubble.
water spills
like fresh blood
drip-drop
draping
my shoes and dolly.
i keep band-aids
now.  neosporin
and peroxide, too.
at the rear
my WACs
and major
hot lips.
icy hot.
essentials.