Rung after rung the bars slides under my hands, it pinches and grips tight as I face the top, pulling myself up
my minature sysiphian task
ending with hot oven metal scorching my thighs and calves.
my expression has not changed much since those days
there is no point to the hot iron burn and dirt stands under my nails
and the holes in my clothes, the paint stains in my hair.
stuff and numb with piss colored beverages, and quick filter light brand smokes
when i think like this
tonight every movement works it way down, the hair on my head soft clean
my hand reaches toward my neck, traces the minerals tied to it, and some image
floats inward...
deepest physical pain i know, strikes me repeatedly like bastard lightning.
i close my eyes and say aloud forget, forget.
the next sight: the funny colored image box, laughing tapes, and places i never visited.
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