while listening to a piano concerto by Felix Mendelssohn (1809-1847)

the polychaete doesn’t know
your name and
the trichina couldn’t care
less
and the lineus longissimus could
slide through your
brain
like a string of
red snot
while the
prostoma rubrum would
make your mother
puke
into the
turkey
gravy.

Author
Charles Bukowski
Written
1990
Source
Original manuscript