addiction (12/23/20)

there’s something so sweet about

almost dying, getting 

crushed in the driver's seat as a drunk flings 

metal scraps at neck putty 

like clowns on crushed fruit. you

find yourself mourning the other vehicle.

pacing around at the funeral.

it could have been bigger. more

extravagant. it still could be. we could get 

back on the highway and i could break

two limbs instead of one, the bones

jutting out of personal hell: 

marshmallow sticks.

It's easy to forget the carnage. 

you think of how death can be 

almost orgasmic, the way

windshield glass glints off 

dilated eyes between shattered bone 

contractions: counting rainbow fallout with

bittersweet, simple control.