1990
Go-go gadget, withdrawals no more,
a toast to addicts—there’s treasure on the floor.
X marks the spot, scribbled in Crayola,
connect all the dots—ecstasy, the night is over.
From Rock ’em Sock ’em robots to rocks in socks, a show-off,
hungry hungry Zippos, the money swells my lymph nodes, a lovely something sent ghosts—
right outside your windows,
trust no one, innuendo,
the night piggybacks the sickos.
I feel far from home, yet remotely close to sin,
my coffin’s so inviting—volunteer, I jump right in.
Fundamental frequency, but I only hit the high note,
incidental contingencies, lies in every word that she spoke.
Intentional indecency—my clip could use a reload,
a spectacle illegally, items bought without a barcode.
I yearn for entertainment, chose the red pill, hide from agents,
time’s complacent, me and drugs—true love, it’s our engagement.
And if I ever said “drugs make me a better me,”
I’m sorry that I lied—every night,
I cry myself to sleep.
Copyright © Christopher Bruni | Year Posted 2025
|