PCP

 

by Sam Sax

 

 

the glass          in the glass     pipe        [             passed my way by a man        

             with hair     & no other      facial        features       ]         was barely    transparent or   

there at all.      only knew it                   wasn’t weed                   when the fumes 

             set up their pharmacy behind     my teeth,         robbed me at knife point 

again & again                some   man     dressed all in white.      window that is a liquid    transforming 

             into light.      my whole skeleton  talking      shit to my skin,   hating it 

for not flying off in pieces          like a spaceship or a father.       we were at a concert, 

             the music  substantiating   in the air,  each   note      a thrown      stone 

all i really know is i ended          up on the curb mid winter           in midtown manhatten,  

             sweating into my t.shirt             the world spun on                 its winter hinges,  

[      police on horseback             & tourists staring up         at buildings

             scraping  the heavens clean of snow          ]  my friends     came to collect  me 

after    the concert ended          their heads full of clean music              my hands 

  stone