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    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

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