I shouldn't take
swallowing, swallowing,
it's nothing,
so swallow.
But my arms begin to shake,
in scrawls and spits
written fits.
It curdles and warms,
kinetic.
And slowly, steadily
my insides rise,
in tender revolt
over and out.
I am warm and neon and inside out.
My blood and water and bile run
as I run for a blank to lay myself down -
smell, taste, see, touch,
out and surreally about.
And after stamping their seal
they double back.
I thank the drug
I should not take
and continue sleeping,
dark and warm and thin.
jan 23, 07
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