Psychotropics

by Marc Vincenz

 

He says “in the metrozone there’s only vacuum

& it’s hard to breathe—colors once brilliant

become mute, translucent crawlspaces are lined

with fungus faces & milk dribbles down glazing

& rails where minnow shoals like silver coins spin

heads & tails interweaving courtyards embezzled

in mermaid fountains as roads bump up against trees

*

& in the cold up-welling streaks drag eddies

as waterways clog with vicious ooze as loose tendrils

of ragged cloth snag & the yarn unravels into that tyranny

of collective objectives where your feet are so cold

as blood forgets & your hands don’t know where to go

& you call up flashcards in your dream metropolis

 as the burn in your face moves to your throat

where those animal murmurs emerge in an eye of vapors seeking toxic sex dreams.”

 

 

previously published in Pull of the Gravitons (Right Hand Pointing, 2012)