My key doesn’t fit into your calcium channel
because you are not my amino acid
You are
a convenient breeding ground for the sick
You are
a slick slope sliding down into the
southwest
and you ride the Second-Coming Donkey
when you need to get somewhere important.
There are no circles here
you have to finish every post-synaptic, post-traumatic
positronic pack of menthols that
you open.
Fuck your broken action potential
donkey’s bleeding where the bit broke
dripping lumpy green contrast dye from his nose
He is
your renal failure
He is
your omniscient MRI
and he’s got some bad news
the results indicate a neurological anomaly
There are fire ants crawling all over your amygdala
but Doctor Donkey’s got a psycho-compulsion for
thought-process malignancies
He’s jacking into your Primary Visual Cortex
and installing Contralateral Neglect update,
version 2.0
plugged in at the base of your brain stem
They’re going to make you beautiful
just so you know what it’s like
They need to inject you with something
brilliant
You’re about to feel flesh and bone together.
You’re about to feel radiation inside.
Your drug crunched crack covered calluses
are running through the harmonic hair of a
radioactive isotopian girl
balanced on your knee
She is
the child harlot of Cactus Town
asking “what are you going to do with your other hand?”
She says that
everyone sweats wet blood when they hear the ringing
but everyone’s got a different bell to find
your hemorrhaging point in roughly equivalent to the
information Super-highway’s hemorrhaging point.
The Hive Mind’s riptide finally felt inside
so when you feel something wet and cool sliding down your neck
reach up to it with your thumb and for-finger and
bring it to your lips
Wear it as the most beautiful red you will ever taste with your eyes
because you are about to witness the
synesthete National Anthem
and ever since you came in late that night
seven years ago
the touch of your hand on my face
is unfamiliar
Clamor 