Privation

This is my 600th poem.

Privation 3/26

black                        smooth                        smell
of erasers burning paper            cornstarch and
tires
wrap your head in this mask
its mouth is a cup                        a urinal
smells of burn                            of porcelain
and silver cleaner

your wrists are tied to the pipe over the bathtub
with a pink tie

no food
water                        nothing
not                        even                        sex