he sighedhe didnt exhale

                           one after another after another after another

he felt his head growing large like a balloon and he wondered how he didnt hyperventilatehis headhis lungs didnt blow up and frag and slash the hotel room he let by the week                                                                            

his mind grew blearyfaint 

                            somewhere inside him he wished he could maintain the haze the aimless riot  achieving what he usually did with drugs

who knew sorrow could abet himknew emotions were as chemical as a shot of whisky a snort of TCH a threefingered claw of psilocybin   

2001,  Monday,  7  12. 20