spring cleaning and the letter O

the los angeles machine is running.
a hum of the purest insanity
outside my window.
in bed i think about lips.
mouths forming kissy faces.
pouty lips,
smiling lips,
cracked,
lipstick red,
bruised,
and pierced lips.
i think about bottomless pits
and dental cavities.
i see the number zero,
or maybe it's the letter O?
and outside,
a thick new layer of angst is forming.
souls chewed up by the machine.
for reasons unknown to me
i'm angry at these mouths.
mouths eating food,
smoking cigarettes,
belting out soundless prayers.
there is an audio disease spreading in the night.
madness creeping in my ears,
messing with my sleeping head,
and now i'm afraid of the letter O.
the machine is doing it's spring cleaning.
not everyone will see the summer.