Dexedrine

Don’t even consider

the tornados as catastrophes

the miracle

of the expensed

thrill, the one

that costs skin

ripped, charred

in a crater

You are the Saks

of sensation

tips passed on

round the campfires

of molten

holocausts

divided into strata

Jewels for everyone

The true catastrophes

those with diminishing returns

thrill

dispenser gone awry

pieces pinning

you to the wall

the black bauble

in your

veins

from the ride between

the legs

Poverty hurts,

swept by the stream

from the burst

myocardia

the incontinent body

finds a sort of mobility

at last

then dawn again

then leap into it