Acetaminophen
The bottle says four
in the morning, two
before the dawn hits mother,
nature—cracking grey branches.
Skeletal. Stretched.
A conceit picked up
by these arthritic arteries
thumb towards heaven
the blood drains
I want it to stay
there, right there
but I might need six more in the chamber till it thins,
thins like it’s December first
All wind and no hair.
run a comb through.
nothing sticks. Maybe
ten mixed with a tenth
times two. This skin—
permeable, a grater,
To: the blowing dark air, only colder, larger
with more slits
acetaminophen can’t thicken
I don’t want to remember
Let’s all do oxycodone in December
Spit our blood to make a mural.
Please follow and like us:
