I don’t give anyone responsibility
for the way I feel and I love them
all, I’m not using anyone as my
excuse to feel bad; except the
cold germs in my system
Making my throat burn, little neutral
organisms just bent on making a good
life in my body; with my head feeling
feverish and heavy and my biggest
wish to lie down
In happy forgetfulness, not sitting
here – or anywhere else on earth –
where are those heroine and cocaine
concoctions that were used as an
all-time cure
When our forbears were still young
in the eighteen-twenties?
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