Crowds

We should swim in swollen
 tides of flesh,
  pick the finger-bones
   out (with our teeth)

Chew the sinews,
 glut and seethe,
  'til the undertow swallows us
   takes us, frantic, beneath

Shadow-filled slums
 Unmarked streets
  Grime-caked windows
   Sweat-stained sheets

We live lives like long nights
 with no morning yet,
  We make our money modeling
   all the roles we hate

Learned nothing from life,
 though we knew to question
  the self-affirming cycles
   and tired semantic loops

Half-sobbed prayers
 Broken screams
  Lit neon crosses
   Old-pederast priests

We should fill our goblets
 with liquors and wines
  that pour from festered wounds
   when we twist our claws in

So, let us chew the finger-bones
 until we choke
  (between laughing thoughts)
   on this conscious sea.