watch me fly

without opening an artery for illusion producing drugs

i am flying high, not on a substance; no—in the air

but while my bliss is not chemically induced

as you will notice if you look me in the eye

my pupils are normal, not pin-pric k nor dilated

so—like a bubble — I rise on the thermals

partly—housed in a miracle of chrome and steel

and unlike train travel, there will be peanut passing maybe

but no tunnels to traverse and if we’re lucky, no jeopardy

and the pilot will be good-looking and the flight attendants

cute as cupcake

To Bleed Straight

My mama took me to rehab

And papa took me to church

The priest said he would

Pray me fixed—I would marry

But still, the hunger begged me

Lust was upon me day

And night; the razor called

Called out my name

My sweet gay name

And slashed my wrists

Vertical

Bled me straight

Bled me dead