Drop Cloth

My visit inherits creases like facial lines,
Other qualities made of tribulation;

Vehicular tranquilizers, mostly plastic
These days, like your smile.

When I came out of the operating room,
The paint drying on my new heraldry,

Intoxicants were loosed, corporate ingredients
In atmospheric carcinogenic patent numbers

floating in click me boxes to my lungs, my reciprocal
Aperture. That hole in me I’m breathing

To a new quality, a new condemnation
Made of self. I’ll goo up when I get to your place

Being dead so long, you might want
To put down a towel.