14/30

Don’t stop until you see the whites of his pockets.
            ~ Don Draper

falling is constant failing Alice down the rabbit hole incised seeping blood infected what is happening there skin burnt pain pulling through narcotics profound sleep the body dying not from the feet up politely but from the head down my head hitting my stomach sick & traveling in little boxcars to my extremities made stiff narcoleptic numbness stupor an attack seizure this is not my quest how do people live in pain all the time how cut open tenders gurgle out the surgeon asked have you had trouble with anesthesia I tell him about the amputation how I woke & said why is there blood everywhere before I heard you’re not supposed to be here this is not my quest I know nothing nothing I listened to a baseball game on the radio today a radio from the early 60s heavy brown leather boxy my hair is clean I told the doctors mice have chewed through the wires & clouds are serious mobsters throb throb throb a steady heart lives in my feet

I don't give a flying fuck about this poem
I don't love it
This poem felt like zero while I was writing it
I deleted yesterday's poem this morning because it felt like it was holding a match to my crazy which now sounds crazy to me as I write it