High, spacy, and hot,
wanting to write, but
not.
Too free floating, the thoughts
free will has brought.
Now, the paper is too torn in two;
Free will has wrought--
painfully pleasing…
destructive desire…
Gas City (one mile away)-- hard-on-for you.
Free will, so I see (on streets):
Some dance alone with hands raised to the sky,
some smoke Fentanyl patches,
with raccoon-like, dark, saggy eyes.
Free will, so
we’re vain, looking for ourselves in everything.
My own interest.
Free will, but
it’s weird seeing you
after not seeing you for so long.
After
it spoiled
my hands were soiled
from the flesh of another human being.
