My head and pencil neck
Hang longingly over the
Syringe-like highway dividing lines
Speeding past; morphine
Nightmares; an ominous windshield
I’ve been wearing black
Socks in the morning
The coffee I cuddled
In my tonsils
Gropes around
Like the failure of alcohol
I’m going on furlough up north
Up away from pedestrians
And pederasts,
Just above the street corner
Cymbal music, a cut
Above the freon suffocation
To the fake pastoral fields
Away from my siblings
Away from the church
To the fake pastoral fences
In a car with a passenger
I don’t know
Away to anywhere
I took the white hot pills
To ensure that before I reached
My destination I would not fall
Asleep on the road, killing us both
But this time they made
Me ache; as my foot
Dips into the combustion
I squeeze my eyes
I’m awake and more in pain
And acutely aware
That I’m as fragile as glass.
–Eric Rasmussen, 1990
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