I was awake with third-quartered living, barely operating,
barley and hops wrote my fate in my gut, in my stools
floating in a pool of yellow-brown liquid, barely operating
my mindfucked state of half-escaping, I awoke in dirt
So many substances, how close to doom I’d flirt
When my heart fluttered in my chest, when my chest
flattened on her breast, I was without my skin or vest
Suspended in an orgasm that felt the very, very best
Then I was knocked asleep, bright smiles across my face
Knocked asleep to a different realm, I awoke in a different place

Now I wasn’t real, in my own brain, in my own brain
My lips held no accent, none to tether to any soil or blood
And my skin was the colour of shattered glistening skies
No name suited my breathing mouth
Double moral blindness in both eyes
I wasn’t born bare like the other humans
My body squeezed into perfect orange uniforms
Or mangled into the image of the Holy Pope
I am not a product, I am only a mental claw-clutch
of atoms, barely unarranged from the ground: not the saw-dust