“48 numb”

48 numb and rain 3 days,
my car’s small tires slurp through puddled soup.
radios have no news for me.
it’s cold, then not, then cold
as the weather moves furniture.

shaved monkeys ruin every corner of the gym.
weights in my hands lift themselves, counterbalanced by the crush-weight of life.
food tastes like dead fat.
angry shampoo burns my eyes.
my hair keeps getting longer
but not from growth: my brain lowers it dead down the tower of my head
to make its escape.

Richard Brautigan brought a gun to the End.
one day he’ll be dead as long as he was alive.
one day I’ll have lived without you
the exact number of days I knew you.

For 7 days a Band-Aid covers a minor scrape on my right elbow.
I’m afraid to remove it, afraid to find the wound
healed.