I feel dangerous with a needle in my hand

and another in my ass

to stop me being male

and ask me to be female

for a while – to stop the working

of my minds continuity, to stop

the working of mind and soul

and yield to the sonar of

your range finding

balance of power

to feel the useful dictates

of biodorm and biogenisis

that make it to the ends

of the time honoured thing

called the reefer and the madness

of King George who used


of course

and knew it to to be

harmful to the lungs

of deities

and that makes it all

worthwhile and so it is

they ask what-for

you do it?

I mean, when do you

ever feel okay?

About yourself

except when you smoke?

When you do a line

ever so small and smooth

on the porcelain

ever so evil

in a sparkling white


Why do you do it

but out of a spirit

of some






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