brooklyn, new york city (where they paint murals of biggie "in cash we trust" make his ghetto-fabulous life look pretty- what a pity)
like some sort of inanimate life-long sausage, i lie inert like on a grocer's shelf. my body: it seems a natural casing for my soul. my bed the shelf, and im approaching some half-life shelf-life rapidly expiring with every breath. do sausages ever go bad? theyre preserved somehow, with smoke and salt. my body- packed in ions and metabolic electrolytes lies in a state of self-induced preservation.
i take pills. vicodin hp's, 10mg of hydrocodone wrapped in a natural...