My Company, Will Kill You.
Some. Have dreams. About a California shore.
They fantasize about the salt water.
Cleaning their wounds.
I am paused. Atop my air mattress.
Stabbing the mainline,
For a rush of creativity.
Staring at a blank page.
Inhaling the permanent marker
And roses smell.
Wafting in through my window.
Or is it early mornings?
In my eyes
If not for the overcast,
I wouldn’t be able
To distinguish a difference.
Little red veins
Are sprawled across
The whites of my eyes.
And I think of the California shore.
And I would love to piss in it.
Then I can be carried
Inside a harlot’s infection.
I’ll be the promise
To the porn director:
It’s only temporary.”
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