Black Waste

Tessellations, don’t inhale through your nose–
unless it’s the powder I keep finding, sprinkles

under the toilet in the public bathroom
at the office. I look up, no tiles pocked,

falling, daring enough to dab it off the toilet
seat (or floor) and raise my fingertips

to my nose, the time Mark says he’s got
a bag for us to split, two day dream, soon,

soon, he takes it all, goes grocery shopping
at three in the morning… That’s speed for you,

or men. I haven’t been able to tell a drug
from an asshole in years. The reality is,

it’s inevitable: every photo of a face within reach
will eventually have the eyes pierced through.

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