Indolence of Cups

Now the flies speak for us here
And our hair grows big and brown
As it falls down from our head
Does the cloth hang from what the ground wants to
Everybody stops
And it crawls just as it should
Does it think itself aroused
Seeing me on the ground
Weeds tied around my ring finger

I don't do enough
I don't do enough
Don't I do enough?
Don't I do enough?