emergency exits

all airports and

hospitals are the same —

the same sounds, smells, expiration

dates, people in need of a good trauma:

crucibles reaching

down and into you.

how to traverse

this open sea,

in front of me

this buoy:

fire-engine red,

shrieking time-piece

in the night-time,

in the instar wake

of dread —

the tomato king

with his tin-can

tobacco ring,

waiting.

my chipped nails grip the

wave; broken coral points.

how to keep from falling back —

back to the bottle, back to the bed,

back to the needle:

in my head, this

nightmare in triplicate,

hybrid voices following me

down a hallway for years.

i haven’t gotten very far;

i haven’t even made it

out of the building.