Civilization is the grime on my teeth. In civilization desires are like grains of sand. Lying about on the floor over there is the want of a new couch. Behind that book hides the wish for a better nose. Floating in that particular toilet is the desire of wealth. Cravings for sex, caviar, a nice complexion, a new computer, new shoes, and a record deal huddle together under that dime under that wheel of that rusted van on that decrepit street in that shitty neighborhood covered with that grime from that urine and that dead animal owned by that wounded veteran with that mental disorder fed by that cheap processed lamb meal shipped in from that third world country where that farm hand was shot for reporting to that authority that that supervisor had raped that poor suffering woman’s daughter that many times in that way over and over like that time he raped the little Indian girl in that dream where he went to that prosperous country carried on that magical rusty bus to that street and destroyed that veteran’s life by killing that animal and throwing it in that street and there was that dime that shined like that knife that fell out of his pocket like that moment that hovered for a moment like that grime on an angel’s teeth like that civilization in my mouth, green, crusted, and desiring.
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