a story of a cleaner.

what seems as flesh is formed from the decaying rot.
the mildew smoldering from a shower curtain
drenches an insect carcass.
blood and semen tangles in a mix spilt from a wine glass
and a used condom.

the faucet half-closed, with water tinkling
as if it was this room sweating in damp cold.
the floor is stained from dried piss, oil
and used lavender-scented fabric softener.

what is this house?. why are we looking through mold-ridden mirrors?
i never get to ask these questions..
i do get to see those painted faces on the picture frames;
a modest stamp collection;
the puerto rican series from 1973 even featured che guevarra.

even a private collection of dvd special editions like
"gone with the wind" or "excess baggage"..

what a waste of time.

this place smells of thai food and sweat,
like methamphetamine-laced sex from days ago...
this isn't a lobby for the timid
as flood comes in from the pouring rain outside.
the bedroom is always a place where the action is found.

kitchen knives. yes. scissors. with bits of dried human tissue.
a fireplace poker.. wow, to think we're in the tropics.
and yes,
the finishing toll.
a hammer.

a hammer-smashed face used to be an inspirational thought for death metal bands.
but now that i've seen about 22 of these,
i just cover it up with a black garbage bag.

i open the fridge.
the stale and foul smell doesnt mind me
as it reminds me of memories
of bullies from my old high school.
can you say i had it good though i was given black-eyes,
i called them my friends.
they stink
like this..

i grasp an tight-lidded liter full of formalin.
and take my time;
with bathroom tiles, i always use a toothbrush.
wish i was as more sharp stoned doing this.
yesterday i just filled a bucket full of gunk scraped from
a woman's lacerated throat.
i dont mind some of that corpse's bile hatched in my gloves..
its just so revolting to see she had no eyeballs,
just those sockets where ice picks from god knows who latched it in.

so here i am picking up this and that.
i bought in two mr.muscle cleaners, a windex and some lighter fluid.
my client didn't even speculate to clean specs of gunpowder and parafin
in that stupid persian carpet.
it doesnt even bother me my nails are still smudged from
undisgested food picking up this little kid's guts on the bathroom floor;
and it smells like gelatin.

what bothers me is that stupid persian carpet.
i might just dowse it in the sun, right next to the clothesline,
get it wet with detergent and let it dry uneasy,
so it'll just stink sour.

its a dirty job, and someone will do it.
especially when 50 grand is involved,
hell i could love it for all i care.

50 grand..enough for a lifetime not be haunted of dreams like this.