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’