Tag Archives: medicine

Tools of the trade

Like the fat fuck doctor handing over vicodin
to the boy in pain who doesn’t yet know
he should say ‘go kill yourself’
instead of ‘okay’

Like dufflebags full of crystal methamphetamine
that used to be made in America
until it got outsourced
just like everything else

Like vacuum-packed on diplomatic flights
to South Korea—China—the Philippines
by the psychopathic soldiers & agents
without an ounce of morale left

Like making billions pushing synthetic opiates
while thousands of misled victims are dying
turning to heroin laced with fent
chasing their own tails until the end

Like turning a blind eye to the kilograms
of legal fentanyl analogs
exported from China—
North Korea can only dream of such success—

Like Duterte’s son getting caught
red handed moving millions in shabu
Triad tats on his back
—no one does a thing

Like shooting up after eating McDonalds
driving your Chevy Geo out of the parking lot
onto the road chucking your used needle
into the gutter from an open window

Like not even knowing there’s a lethal threshold
that you are going to want to pass
to get the same degree of feeling
you had the first time—it’s already gone—

Like taking your usual maintenance dose
that you thought was from the same source
nodding off on the toilet
never waking up again

Like writing a book about the Clinton’s
cocaine Arkanicide rise to political power
getting shot in the head
—suicided on the top of a hillside

Like the opium wars all over again
forever without an end in sight
whole entire neighborhoods set up
to be harvested for prisoners

Like feeding them risperidone for profit
in solitary confinement
guilty of nothing
but a lifestyle

Like how my generation statistically
is the drunkest one ever to walk
the face of the earth
—I wonder why that is

Like how before it was legal
for the CIA to brainwash the public before 2011
there were shows like Friends
all the chicks wanted to watch

Like no matter how much effort
you put into unlearning & training
your mind—there it is again every time
you talk to almost anyone

Like not giving a fuck
if you don’t like my poem
—go shove your head back into the sand
pretend everything is perfectly fine—

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Borderlands

It’s the first time
you realize
you’ve been born—
you were becoming—now
you’re being—

It’s the crossfade
of your memory—that one
time—you can’t discern
now—was it just
your imagination—

It’s the one dream
where it’s made to be seen
so clearly—
like an epiphany—
or an emotion—

It’s the fever
that comes over you—seeks
to mend you—takes you
somewhere else—
does it boil—
or does it burn—

You slide down
the neck—you feel for
where the waves start
wobbling—you put your
palms up—index to
the thumb—

It’s the medicine—
do you remember
your initiation—
did you take it
into your hands—what does
healing—mean
to you—

It’s the practice—
the moments of mastery
that reflect the mystery
infinitely—

Does it pluck at you
like a string—does it
drone—does it chime
like a bell—does it echo 
when I do this—

It’s the death—
like falling—
or the death
like flying—

It’s tomorrow
where intention
calluses—it shines in wait—
tomorrow—you will
surrender—



All forces coerce in pairs 

40 ppm of
                  life left
                                 to dissolve

She said she
                       knew of another
                                                      way in

We keep that
                         flicker warm to
                                                       the sole

Flip neon hourglasses
                                         so we don’t
                                                              have to count

Get a torch
                    until it’s all
                                         burned off clean

Take the river
                         through your home
                                                            on the far-side 

Keep the fountain
                                steady even gravity’s
                                                                      incendiary

We need more
                           medicine
                                           the damage has been done

The ripple in
                      the well—hemp
                                                   we pullied into mash

They didn’t know
the real meaning
of detachment

They would fossilize
boysenberry into
secretions

Was it a totem
or a blacklight
pistolwhip

When it would
unfurl
it would spit light

It would decapitate
both heads
at the same time

Since Tesla fell in love with a pigeon

                      never ceasing
                                   in dispersion
                                        you curl in quiet
                                             revelation

                                is there anything
                        more marvellous
         than the way you move
  for me

    spoonfulls reach
        their boiling points
                      combustion I
                                      become

                                       when the day is almost
                                 done and the night
                        has almost fallen

                       let’s catch
  the last sunbeams
thru the kitchen window

     it goes
         harpooning
               in sunken spirals
                        across the cymbopogon

                                       swirly white waterfall
                                                            of the sky
                                                    of my mouth

Medicine chess

Like a fog
in front of me
I know to reach
my hands in
to write this—

like the way
they trespassed
out of nowhere one day—
hands on black pistols
holstered on leather belts—

it was identical to
the khakiclothed
sunglassed dream
two days prior

with the clipboard
blue spyphone camera
and triggerhappy
taser practice
on the bored oak tree
adrenaline comedown—

it was when
I was disarmed—
hands in pockets—
pushed up
against the fence—
residue on
the black knife  He
put his hands on me

no more running—

the jig is up
verbatim
a cup of coffee
in my hands—
threat venom
poker face

no more lies—

I’d been waiting
in the shadows
of truth and stigma
seven years for this—

bedroom eyes

everyone was sweating
under the April hot sun
of the mustached flatlands—

How many you got here?

the central valley in a drought;
post-apocalyptic vampire infested
methamphetamine free for all—

little man looking up
standing inches away—
hadn’t showered in a while—

what’s in the barn,
you can’t go in there—

what’s in the barn, no—
you can’t go in there—

I told him I am you in the future

It happened
one morning
of an almost new moon

it
was hiding
behind the crushed disc
in the blood of
a man who worked
every day of his life
to not see this coming
on a protein test

who said I could
spike my hair
with tinned beeswax
if I would play guitar
an hour every day

who just wanted to see
this seed come to fruit
blown sticky deadmopped
all over this feral chest
down the shower drain
alone; an acid head—
microbial monk of nothing—
a geyser
in the folding fire
of a cracked coconut

a fountain of this
is where we administer
the medicine, maybe
we knew all along
that it would come to this—
why I live
way up here
far away stunned
but not surprised

as you leave
your son
ahead one
cell at a time

The tesseraction

When we woke
there was a voice
saying each of our names—

Nothing would be the same
ever again—

Namaste in the way
we distrust—
extracting pure consciousness
just to drown in it—

Entire colonies were wiped out—
notes were taken—
the moon used to spew lava
but now it’s dead—

We were an infinite’s last ditch effort
just to show us what we had done—

We worshipped money as a god—
gnawing on nothing;
plastic skin smooth
as a succulent in the sand—
we could no longer keep quiet—
we deserted—

We burned the whole world
to the ground— we apologized
as a formality; we paid out;
we kept going—

The cancer of the last phase
of civilization reaches
into my voice—
my finger tips—
we held hands as we jumped—
we turned into liquid—

Prefabricated minds
spill down the grimy gutter
into the sewer that’s sieved
for bitter water; your river of life
full of garbage, human waste, torsos—
we wondered why we felt bad—
we were given experimental drugs—
we died in their hands—

We practiced medicine
by the fire burning into the night—
we could see into one another—
we carved our faces out of clay—
we wore the feathers of the dead—
we didn’t have an address,
it didn’t even matter—

There was nothing left—
we evaporated—
condensated along
the shattering glass—
biolumenesence; a map
where there was once skin—
we didn’t need to wear masks—
we were the reaching leaves
and the lichenlicked statues—
we sat still—
we wore off—

We got down on our knees
and pressed the white hot metal
gently into our sockets
with a singe—

They said that half the people
born this year
will never see the milky way—
never see their home—
never see themselves—

How many will be afraid
to look into the mirror—
how many will never know—
never close their eyes and dissolve—
never to see the stained glass
tesseraction aglow spinning slowly
hanging from an iron chain
in the temple of stone—
never to take a deep breath
or submerge their frigid bodies
in the cold clean river—

Never to have a vision
or a dream— you were molded
from the start— you sought refuge
under the wings of corruption—
even the vultures were almost gone—

How many will get the opportunity
and say no— or get a taste
and run away thinking they know—

We went in as far as you could go—
we were relentless—
we stopped at nothing—
if there were others
they were nowhere to be found—
we unearthed what they were hiding—
we disappeared—

We were not haunted
but there was something there—
we walked
until our whiskers froze solid—
until we could conduct
our final experiment—
we were ready
at less than a moments notice—

We didn’t know where we were going—
it didn’t matter—
we were already there

We ran
while we rested—
we were being hunted—
we had permanent files—
we couldn’t care less—

How many will never see the fog
thick in the morning under the canopy
of the forest— never to be stalked
by a mountain lion— never to lay
naked on a bed of pine
beside a fire of eyes with mydriasis;
we could feel it coming for us—

The electric fence no longer worked—
it was time to go downstream—
we adapted to being in a zoo—
we let them use us as lab rats—
we never forgot— we
could see it in the sky
reflecting off of their eyes—

We lit the galactic temple incense—
we never let the fire burn out—
it was burning us alive—
we scoured the dark grey landscape
for anything real—
we were sweating—
swatting flies like it was a ritual—

They tried to forcefeed us
their version of highest-bid history—
made a Greek tragedy out of New York City—
there’s too much money to be made
in destruction; it corrupted us;
it was more profitable than life;
turned people into monsters and slaves—
we were at war without end—

We had clay covered skin—
we drew spirals on the wall—
we could see them looking at us
while we slept— it was rigged
from the very beginning—
we carved notches into our necks—
we tattooed our minds—
we got as far away as we could get
as if it made a difference—

We foraged thru the ice—
we were surrounded
by a dwindling abundance—
we poisoned ourselves—
we were hallucinating
our entire existence—
we ripped our teeth out
with our bare hands—
we squatted on the tundra;
canoed into nowhere—

We were thin and getting thinner
like a rag wrung out—
like a hatchet thrown dead on
into a trunk—

We knew what we were looking for—
we were back to square one—
we had come full circle—
we weren’t coming back—

How many will never be summoned
awake by the call of the voice—
never to inject pure crystalline
lucidity on their deathbed intravenously—