Monday, March 31, 2014

ours and not mine

There are no answers, I am selfish and drunken and smoking cigarettes with ghosts behind the clear glass of airport smoking booths. I trade smooth filters and notice lipstick; I extinguish the ember and wrap the treasure in a napkin scrawled with black ink. I am twisted and squeezed while my tubes are replaced with wires and synapses fire shots into the back of my throat. I plug in, sit down, and shut up, letting my fingers tickle my vocal chords in their halfhearted attempt to read braille. Fruitless, they scramble down further to find stomach acid without clarity, scramble to find a fingerhold that can feel something. I read their skewed translations, their feedback reports, and I feel helpless and heavy with addiction. Scan my chest, pull apart the hinges and sketch photographs of clues, trace the organs without clarity. I am lucid, I am staring at fluorescent sky, I am flat against the wall and spinning. I flick the matches in my palm, long since beheaded and useless, and I remember asphalt in parking lots. The ringing in my ears leaves a trail of fucking breadcrumbs on the shoulder of every highway, down the wing of every plane. Cyclical and beautiful, at least I’ll be able to get back somewhere.

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