Book

It’s a strange addiction
an affliction of sorts though not painful
and I have to admit that it started at a
young age for me

I’m not exactly sure what it was about the white
it could be the variety of the textures
the grit in the teeth and how it catches in the
pads of the fingers

or maybe it was something about the black
the juxtaposition with its counterpart
creating solid defined beauty that
blocks out the noise of the world

or it could be the way that it hits the brain:

slow at times [especially at first]
an aching drill of pleasure through the eyes

then at others it’s a rush of information
an ocean wave of thoughts [not even my own]
washing over my cortex in waves

Someone named Corpron really got me hooked
I remember her turtleneck sweaters
she wore those every day [almost]
a grey turtleneck sweater and a darker grey vest
they made her look like an
indie bouncer for a toothpick night club

she was hip with the style and the lingo
she’d say “just try it” and hand me some new stuff
I’d spend hours with Francis just on that one hit

I tell you
I could write essays about the things I’ve seen
on this stuff
I have written essays about the things I’ve seen
on this stuff

I’ve seen the rain count itself [each individual raindrop]
I’ve seen men murder other men with axes in cold blood
I’ve seen a man shoot an arrow through twelve axe heads
I’ve seen a woman lose herself in the confines of her wallpaper
I’ve seen so much death
so much pain
so much love
so much adventure
so much beauty
so much wonderment

and I’ve never left my room

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