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When I really get nice and juiced,
my limbs become soft and I call
Arlington first thing. The email
pings like rifle shots into
nether land

When I get juiced right proper
things spin to the point of vomit --
to bring up the scotch, vodka,
wine: red, white, the rocks
the snacks i am dieting against
(choked down in impulse taken from
a microwave in 7-11)

When I am close to sleep and the colours
come whirling behind my lids, I reach
out and try to see the oversoul
to link up with those whom I love from
far away.

©1995 Chris Abraham