crude days indeed

Is there any poetry in chewing ones nails?
Or the dead flesh out of the corners of the nails?
Whilst I munch the extra skin
Spit its excess
Profound thoughts brew on my head
Is there any charm on the detail
As one scratches
To feel the edges of unwantedness
With the pulgar
Or the digits of my fingerprints
Scouring fields to bite off
Swallow drink
As I spew
A half cooked notion
That might make it or not
In someones head
Or
Many heads?
Only a memory can sweeten the deal
A walk on the streets of
L
O
N
E
L
I
N
E
S
S
So no. Here I am. Naked as if.