Nothing - can be so Hungry!
And as this Engine - lures the Air to Claw -
At every cell of Lost - beneath its Maw -
So - my Heart-Vacuum gropes -
for Motes - to hide in my old - Red Sack -
Drumming in back - of my Innocent - Look -

I seal the Dark Theater - step into Rain -
and Wonder - when the Rug is Clean -
What breeds from those - spilled Secrets -
Pooled inside - my yellow-Eyed - Machine -

Fulfilled. Full. Filled.
Feel full filled, full filthed.
Feel foul. Bag. Filthy bag!
Vacuum. Clean! Er...
Full. Bag. Clog.
"Oh my dear, what a lovely rug!"
"Bag!
Bag!
Ugh!"

"Arise! You have Nothing, to lose!"

Want to be loved? Be a Vacuum.
Goddess knows, you know how to make Womb.
So men (under pressure) who Weather our World,
who seem to blow free as Adams of Air--
yet follow Prevailings, a Storm, a Cold Front,
come Blind to you, pressed by those Behind
and seeking an open Mind--like open Cunt!
Boast deeds, blurt needs, spurt seeds; Unloaded, go.
Slime pools inside. Your bag replaceable? Hope so!
Natures adore a Vacuum: "Here I COME!
Don't do a thing my dear, the Pressure's all Mine."
Play Dumb.

Or be the Frog in the throat of the Princess:
for endless In-Spiration cannot last.
And will the World or Lung or Love withstand
the Knuckles of that storm's karate Fist?
The croak, the Blast of larynx of this Beast
Exhaling, howling, Truth too long Comprest.