-admittance-

when the needle slips in,

not like the pop at the point of morphine 

just before it rushes in to fill the crowded

cerebrum with laziness,

but more like a tuesday afternoon’s attitude

when nobody’s saying much of anything,—

or the crazy blitz of the highway

after the bomb's dust settles and you realize 

you’ve had it anyway, — then 

zig-zagging the dead metals

feeling the rapid
lunacy of machinery's pistons

firing sparks under your ass,——

more like the day 
before the cells struck-back with an ex-
wife's lick of vendetta ——

and the florescence biting sharply 
through the ward’s bleached eyes,

and you want to sleep—— but

the saline drips so loudly you hear it 
dropping from the greying back-
side of the brain,——

and you lie there...


intravenous antibiotics is like standing water
rising to take its first steps into blood,

and you're on the blacktop,
the blotter of everything that’s useless, 
waiting——

still crazy for morphine.

                                        rash 3 / city