They sell the new drugs right under your nose.

Too familiar to speak of, those wolves breathe heavy. 
Dawn’s song worms the gooed maze of the body’s interior.

Today is a series of dangerous doors closing. 
Raw silk brushing the skin of a bruised ass.

I want the cliffs above the sea to disappear now.
I spread one of the body’s holes open wide, spit deep into it. 
A form of punctuation.

Anything but children and animals, she said. 
Those are my soft spots.

Rushing through a busy mall I trip over a blind man’s cane. 

My upper lip tastes of piss.

All the things I hate are imaginary.