up over the queasy glossed acre of scrub pine "˜hind your house
through the glass of the sliding door it passes now without sound
leave my clothes in a heap on the floor
collapse into bed
the world's dead lid sagging green-black and pregnant
still it's a fatuous wish to be blank and brand-new
noticing motion in this sick and sprawling splendor
spilling guts
motes were clouds in spokes of shivering sun
the life to come, the life to come
you snorted up an orgasm times twenty
then one day you can't turn the shower on
look down
all your birthmarks and scars are gone
skin pink and virgin
a burn victim
what you sloughed off found cold in your bed and mourned
before ever trying weed
before the blind opioid glow
he loved his secret family
and what a pain
hiding dilation
unnatural brightness
from the corner store clerk
who never looked up