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Acetaminophen

Acetaminophen

 

The bottle says four

in the morning, two

before the dawn hits mother,

 

nature—cracking grey branches.

Skeletal. Stretched.

A conceit picked up

by these arthritic arteries

 

thumb towards heaven

the blood drains

 

I want it to stay

there, right there

but I might need six more in the chamber till it thins,

thins like it’s December first

 

All wind and no hair.

run a comb through.

nothing sticks. Maybe

 

ten mixed with a tenth

times two. This skin—

permeable, a grater,

 

To: the blowing dark air, only colder, larger

            with more slits

acetaminophen can’t thicken

 

I don’t want to remember

 

Let’s all do oxycodone in December

Spit our blood to make a mural.

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