The cd skips and I would kick the boom box beside my bed
but the bottles are balancing oblong atop our needles,
and tin foil, and I don't really want to interrupt
the chirping jack hammers
of the looping mili second.
my chin falls to my chest and I nod, eyes closed
at the stars framed in the window beyond
my feet and I think about you, and how
you screamed and clawed
your eyes into pink pulp our first time
tripping. No one remembers except
me and those same stars that tried
to crawl inside you
like sparkling baby
scorpions.
