oblivious to the sound of the world
my unwashed hands travel too
to the different parts of my incensed body
to hellish cries, to my eyes, finger my heart,
i touch, to my feet god, my scrotum continent, war countries
of gentle caresses, of a sweet widow of a night,
i touch, my hands unwashed these organs
checking all the blood that flow through them
of them, arteries, veins, the clogged ones
those with plaques and static particles
my hands the body sleeping the sleep of death
of living and the living, the unfamiliar
stepping out from the corners of the eyes