A good junkie,
could clearly articulate
mad hallucinations
of sight and mind
that seem so relevant the moment before they are forgotten.
And when brushing his fingertips across the placid surface,
how could he not have fallen in?
Lament
nearly drowned him.
He emerges and he is emaciated and his veins are enormous and his skin is pale,
but when he spoke I could have sworn he'd lived for ever, and would.
