I told him I am you in the future

Consciousness creates reality

it
was hiding
behind the crushed disc
in the blood of
a man who worked
every day of his life
to not see this coming
on a protein test

who said I could
spike my hair
with tinned beeswax
if I would play guitar
an hour every day

who just wanted to see
this seed come to fruit
blown sticky deadmopped
all over this feral chest
down the shower drain
alone; an acid head—
microbial monk of nothing—
a geyser
in the folding fire
of a cracked coconut

a fountain of this
is where we administer
the medicine, maybe
we knew all along
that it would come to this—
why I live
way up here
far away stunned
but not surprised

as you leave
your son
ahead one
cell at a time

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