anymore.
My only Muse
is the band.
Someone
stole it.
An orange marker/
pen in an airport
told my diary the details-
pulling my hips meet yours
thought
you'd stay there if
I tied the night red
around my wrist.
Just now I gathered
all my kamikaze
neurotransmitters
to do it.
The blue sticker means
Do Not Resuscitate.
Don't crack my ribs
to save my heart. mildew
and chemical-y tropics are
not in my advanced directives.
Just let me drive home drunk
on sour, fermented memories
and kill us once and for all.
The first time I did CPR
-I mean, really did CPR-
compressions, and all,
there were about 10 of us
working on the rapidly decaying
sweat and vomit slicked corpse
sweat and vomit slicked corpse
that all stopped moving as his
pocket holster cell phone sang
"endless love."
now,
The only other time I heard
comparable silence in the ER
was during the Superbowl.
we let him die.
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