I had the shot of morphine didn’t know a thing
about it it was right after I said don’t
think I’m crazy
but I have to take these pants off struggling down in bay 14
to liberate some stinging weals they were running neck to neck
with epigastric pain I held my knitted blanket like Linus
it
was the charts retailed the
story back
like a shouted joke in a canyon reverberate
the days after the morphine
that never knocked me on my arse the mast cells blooming
on my thigh they were
the rockery that ripped the engine out
of all the goings on and then some
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