the pain
of the
sewing of
plasma
platelets
and ink
into
a mingle
is a
different experience
sober
this
hurts
I am
here rather than
this
hurts
I am
going someplace
else
a
meditation
don't
be
ashamed
of your arm
says the
artist
of the
spindly and fish belly white
thing
his grip
on it tells me
he's
serious
his eye
contact
tells me
he's kind
and I
could
kiss him
for it
wet
mouths and
hands on
his plumpness
but I
don't fantasize
side-effect
of self esteem
the
sound of
the tool
of
his
trade
again
dampening
but
somehow making more obvious
the Bob
Marley
I bet
that mouth
tastes
like weed
concentration
now
knitting
tautness into two faces
no woman
no cry
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