The lid stays down - It stays on - Then blows And all these guts These busy demons Spill out. They stick me with Their spears Laugh at the blood Flows the million Pricks that gouge the Skin. They have me on the run. I bleed, bleed, Scour the floor with red Heat, with human Pain. I cannot direct, Control, can no More be sane than Stop this blood flow Than bid them all Go.next poem