Katie Graham, Unfamiliar

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

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