“Speculate dammit, and get me the hell out
of this office. I’ve got daylight left.”
Prescriptions and referrals, and after my lung
collapses I’ll drop them all off with liquor breath:
1 bottle raspberry vodka, 12-pack japanese beer,
two bottles of chardonnay, all of which I got
over the counter, discounted in cash and fear.
I’m already drunk in sunglasses writing this poem.
Light. I’ve got loves bitching – afraid
of my blown set, and I can’t comfort them.
Me? I just spin over the ends. Spin with
my arms out open until I fall flat, face hot,
high enough to rebuke air ’til I’m singed,
high enough to hold my breath out, chest taut.