Paper Mache Perfection

My addictions:

the obsessions of this

ill mind cannot

be bottled up

in little glass jars

or powdery plastic

packages in a brief

case walking down

the street. They are

not found on the backs

of tongues; but rather

they hide beneath,

inside, on the tip of

the pink flesh

as it licks lips.

They cannot be

swallowed or chewed

yet they are constantly

being digested. They

are abysses that

stare back—

lounging in the dark

of open mouths.

I turn to each

and relinquish

my little wind-up

heart; I let it

spin to its heart's

content. Wondering

why I keep

coming back doesn't

change my need. I am

a desperate man

and I take my

comfort where I can.