Flesh Farmers.

Flesh Farmers.

-(Fifth Grade Report)




slip covertly

into facial orifices,
plucking liquefied dust,
from stereo

nostril chambers
while several orally

fixated nail-biters,

crunch a third period snack.

Others mine wax

from ear tunnels

rolled into little balls

flicked floorward,
or rub sleep dirt

from their visual

corners clogged.

Some mine belly button lint

and others..

well I won't go any

lower than that

All around me

the furtive motions of
nervous habits erupt
while I cup my chin
fingertips supporting
my un-plucked face,
as I try to avoid

falling prey
to the vices

of self perusal.

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