Lagniappe

A cat’s blue belly,
pumped up like a jellyfish
rounded out and spattered
with it’s limbs outstretched.

Red confetti-like specks of dye
happily sat melted on their white capsulets.
The taste of chalk infected my mouth,
my throat and lungs.

A hobby.
(the deplorable sobriquet
of a junkie’s self-worth)
I carry thirteen pockets
full of our pulverulant Christ.

To the moon! we said-
To hell, or whichever we see first.
It must be my body’s lack of
containment; I’ve gone septic.

I’ve given birth to purple babies,
curled in satin shoe-boxes,
hiding underneath the boulder
we found that day in the park.

Feed me pills, hard and wet with spit
so that we may forget their open faces,
blue like dead orchids,
abandoned in the vase from Mother’s Day.

Yet, the milk I spill still spills:
A deranged lagniappe.

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