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