Shy yet contemptible object
in an unleaking vial collected.
It slips from end to end
and back, the jaw of it
elsewhere unendingly
dreaming, its child
discarded in tactical gear.
It is the original taste,
the taste of the feeling,
as end to end and back
and forth it slips, it waves
to its relevant world
full of filth and wellness
and poisons and grit
and laughter at pics
of the unwashed shopping,

Maly Trostinets