Human Grease Poem by Peter Black

This film seeps from our skin, out of our pores,
Makes our clothing dirty and mold,
Washes out yellow and dinged,
Like urine and smells of fat,
From all the poor creature we glut for our guts;
Covers our hands so they slip when gripped.
We smell only our own stink,
And over our eyes is a thick sheet,
Bubbled and slimy, of putrid human grease,
That makes us think proper and citrus our scent,
Graceful and noble our murderous acts.
Led by desire, the quest for relief,
We leave like slugs, long trails of our disease.