Consolation Prize

I need a vacation using my body as suitcase.

Maybe get a colonic so I can re-pack itfull of more shit. I understand the desirefor ambiguously categorized things andthe muted monitoring of the flesh

like the ferryman that has a soft eyefor the wandering ascetic. I can’t handlewhat I’m dying for and I can barely sitthrough another summer’s dirty feet orpastel fiction of a picture in the doctor’s office.

I can’t stand the cold either. Those glacial driftsthat drink blood. It’s no excuse to die. A terriblefact, but there is more clarity in the lightat the end of one day than in all summer’s sun.