the beeping and the blinking
and the math on the wires
monitors and iv drips
blue and silver serial numbers
of the medical equipment
sent tiny shocks of stress
directly to his sweat soaked head
since adolescence
the only way he knew
how to soothe himself
after a stressful situation
or how to survive
a dry period
between snorts or shots
was to savor the sensation
of his rolling eyes
to the back of his neck
after a good junk score
it started with strained nerves
abstract jittery eyelids
tiny tear drops sweeping
from the corners of his eyes
then tenebrosity
gunning through pin-hole pupils
the relief of a private world now televised
his relief
the private world
painted with garish French carnival colors
golds that were green
reds that were milky blood pink
old ship ropes and Macaque monkeys
like the ones from a Burroughs’ dream
words less spoken 