So many wires plugged into me,
life support for my body and mind.
Two in my ears deliver
waves of Vicoden to help me
sleep two dozen hours a day,
sedate the nightmares in wait
outside my door.
A wire into my hands shocks
them into seizures, moving
mountains, parting oceans, creating
worlds that can’t be found
beyond the edges of the universe.
Fiber-optic wires plugged into my eyes allow
me to see the entire world: every
alley, every gutter, every package wrapped
in brown paper bag, inside a girl
whose name I know not, whose body
I can trace like the alphabet.
I could pull the wires out, crucify
the legion that has possessed my mind,
my mouth, my heart. I could stand
up and walk out the door.
But the sun is too hot, the sweat
will make me crack. The people speak
in gibberish, they offer me nothing
my dreams haven’t shown me.
My key outside fell into dirt
seven years ago, I won’t get on my knees. It’s not worth the effort.
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