Thursday, 28 April 2011

26: Appointments

her finger is clammy and plastic inside and
I have never liked that feeling like
fucking a dentist, goblets of antiseptic
spilt on the checkerboard floor and

this is why
I’m here
I guess

the pills dissolve and it is worse than
those wisdoms out; it hurts a bass hurt
a thud a floor-shaker, the battlecry of
a fault line proposing to Richter and

I breathe
in, I
breathe out

my gums bleed often but my heart
is a starched white mask as I squash
the toothpaste tube, squeeze harder
till the last scarlet blob oozes out

and I am laughing-gas giddy

as light as a champagne bubble
dissolved in the gravity of the moon

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