I gave it up to God, though I could not
give it up. I mean, I tried to stop,
and I could not. I mean, black flies
roamed my skull, and still,
whatever they'd still, I'd swill.
My heart was a rotting fruit--
and still, I'd--. Pieced together with thin
twine, I walked the desert ranch
road. I could see my wasting bone
blow away as dust through my mouth.
I knew that if I were to fell myself
on a Spanish dagger plant, I'd drain like so
much sand. The gin invisible,
but the sun saw it still, wanted it
for its own. All that was left in me
this morning were fumes. The heavens
beckon; I looked up. The whispered
words to sky: take me please.
And I was lifted, watered,