the flesh covers the bone 

   and they put a mind 

   in there and 

   sometimes a soul, 

   and the women break 

   vases against the walls 

   and the men drink too 

   much 

   and nobody finds the 

   one 

   but keep 

   looking 

   crawling in and out 

   of beds. 

   flesh covers 

   the bone and the 

   flesh searches 

   for more than 

   flesh. 

   
   there's no chance 

   at all: 

   we are all trapped 

   by a singular 

   fate. 

   nobody ever finds 

   the one. 

   the city dumps fill 

   the junkyards fill 

   the madhouses fill 

   the hospitals fill 

   the graveyards fill 

   nothing else 

   fills.