Suicidal CNA works seven to seven,
Puts old brains on ice,
Marrying Jell-O and incontinence,
Pressure always from the ground up
From twin beds, lone twin beds,
Presses up from all sides, eats
tendons, hips, heels;
Cemeterial chiming way down the street
Jowls cascade down cheeks,
Clocks on every wall in that emporium,
Faces pressed up, hands make quiet bony cracks,
Louder at dusk;
She tells you, “Let it contract.
Loosen your fists from your bedrails.
I hear the clocks too, ground up
Buff face of white bone.”