Eric Amling

We come here These little pillars of salt Placed into the hands Of physicians With debt sweats A gross product Of the sex apparatus There are expired teens There are the old That die in the summer The situation When a nation Loses its beloved celebrity It tries to out-mourn one another Extort them of their talent Versions of these chosen ones Hair flowing free and unrestricted Meanwhile The curbs are laced With water soluble prescriptions Running down into gutters Phosphorescent in the streetlight Medications Available in avocado Coppertone Aqua and white I suffer from the occasional Emotionally draining dream about turtles However The simple idea of omnipresent neutrality Is difficult Too much blood Spills in my dreams It’s a vascular debacle Mantras and Ak-47s Are boring In the park Getting some vitamin D The sunlight on my blue jeans I’m a deadened sapphire Reading Didion A psychic residue of fortune is on me Didion writes, “I have already lost touch with a couple of people I used to be” I can’t handle fate The aphrodisiac of lying to myself The battery flavor of anxiety Shooting the messenger Having a god that doesn’t ‘get me’