Sobriety In America


I was about to go use, Fives and tens stuck in my pocket, ignition,
Gothic tattoos and FM static radio-
I hate seeing the phrase, "In God we trust" on my currency when
I'm buying my drugs.
I lied in N.A. Last Thursday.

I love that moment, right before I push, in a few seconds I will
feel the 70 cc of unearthly energy applied through a needle-
turning my afternoon sideways to eclipse the night.
I can best describe it as the human body's interpretation of being
non-human, like believing in God at the end of a syringe.
Recreating religion all over again.

It hits me-the ground escaping from the grasp of my feet- and I
step into limbo at dawn, a warm remnant of groaning energy.
All is calm, as I float in the baptized waters of the crucified
unconscious-Moving into the "what can be" until the world returns,
leaving the energy of needles behind.

But then the sickness, the sickness and the insanity-
and the aching, and every minute is ten times longer
and ten times again. And my track marks, symbols of a war only
I'm a part of. Yet, seems a small price. Two hours of minimum
wage salary for the power to turn the earth out
of rhythm, for the ability to hold back reality.

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