The Artist Formerly Known As Addict
A poem for anyone. You, hiding the behinds of your eyes know it’s safe to leave the womb where you curl and duck numb and unremembering no longer reaching for the substitutes pill or plume when even the inanimate sway a cruel gaze and you're tempted to splay the cornea, dream by some edible jewel-tone and deny. No, this food no longer works it is the works which are food now, holy fold your bread and burn your host there is a new sacrament climbing the rungs of the spine drop your glass and grasp hands this toast is...