At the doctor’s
Mid colonoscopy
With a camera
Miles deep
In intestinal tract
On the porch
Drowning in phlegm
With a hand rolled Van Gogh
Snorting lines of adehral
In meticulous kitchens
with inexperience comes
a misunderstanding
Surgical glances from across
The housing project of children
Just swinging in
From mother’s
umbilical cord
They can’t understand
How initial hesitations
Turns to the self loathing
Of addiction
The circulation is faltering
The tips are numb
My motions
My motor skills
Are not my own
Even when I’m pulp
Between sieve bullet holes
It’s not real
death comes to the weak
And the prison inmates
To escape the yard
And drive their Cadillac
Off a cliff.
A corpse
My individual example
