SLUGS

MAYBE WE ARE ALL INSIDE A SLUG,
LIKE HOW THE WORLD IS IN A MARBLE
AT THE END OF MEN IN BLACK.
MAYBE THE SLUG MOVES SLOW ON PURPOSE
TO KEEP US UPRIGHT,
AND IF SALT IS POURED,
WE SWEAT AND CRY OUT
FOR AIR, FOR WATER, FOR SHADE.
AND IF THERE'S AN EARTHQUAKE,
A CHILD MAY HAVE TOOK US FOR A WALK,
AND MAYBE THE SALT THAT FALLS OFF OUR BODIES
MELTS ICEBERGS, AND THAT EXTRA WATER
MAKES THE SLUG BLOAT—PAST ITS CAPACITY.
TOO MUCH PRESSURE HAPPENS.
WE DON'T KNOW WHERE TO START.
THE SLUG COULD BURST
WITH ANY WRONG MOVE.

Waiting at the Pharmacy, a poem for Jon Frier
Full poem:

I’m s’posed to know

All there is to know

About dyin’ cuz

Look at me

All bones showin’

S’posed to be knowin’

How many days passin’

Before the maggots

Start harassin’

I look like i am

S’posed to know

They tell me, they say,

They tell me, hey! You!

Tell me the best

Way we should lay!

I think about books I read

That might have told me

Explicity how to be dead

I know i had shelves, many shelves,

There were planks and brackets

And they held up weight

But no matter how hard I squint

I can’t seem to regain any fine print

What a waste to have spent

All that time with those books

If i can’t use the info

To verify my looks

The best way to lay

In the grave could be

On your back

Face to sky

Hoping planes

Might fly by

I hope that’s enough

Just a guess i am sayin’

But to my credit

It’s much more than just layin’