Donna Dallas

Like I
can’t write but I
can hold this baggie with the pinkies
and the greenies
hold it like the bread of Christ
rub the smooth plastic
with my fingers
to feel the chalky grit
and pop em as I need em

envelope myself into
a white fuzzy
dim lit
dim wit
dense and loose
burdened with the fear
or the lack there of — if
baggie goes bye-bye
my heart stops

alone in my head
all the ghosts float back in
through the holes of my eyes
left open from shock waves
never fully closed since birth
lazy eye
fuck eye
touch my pocket – we are good
I feel the baggie
lips quiver
sigh of relief

endless need
for relief

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