I’m back in front of the fish tank.
there’s a man spitting up into a bag.
I’m tremoring quietly.

      ma’am we put your weapons in a bag.
I turn around to see her holding
my French pocket knife in
a bag.
I’m in a wheelchair.
it’s from the adrenaline of the asthma inhaler
when I thought I couldn’t breathe
and an elderly man couldn’t tell the
difference between carnal hazard and
somatic conjecture
but no one tells me that so I think
I’m possessed. 

“plus the voices talked to me.”
but I don’t say that.

I just shake in the chair,
focused on fish and
fantastic. breathing
fine now. head full
of little


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