The Mourning After Pill

You wake up as you.
Judgment settles in
The corner like dust
On souls
Like bodies aligned
In little concrete
Voices, moss running
Its fingers through
The hair of Death.

Judgment is your
Distant relative now,
You only call him
On holidays—

The Great Awakening
Is Death.
Life is your REM
Cycle and Death
Is your Great
Morning.

My mind, an empty
Elevator, you press
The button of ignorance,
Ding down to the second
Floor from the 13th
Missing one.

You breathe and consume
The air like vodka.
Like sex in the shadows,
You pierce life with your
Vulgarity, thrusting,
Grunting with
Fluid freedom,
Whitman’s Calamus
Democracy, phallic-
Sprouting from God’s
Conservative earth.

I fuck the conservatives
With my greenery,
And I fall from
Brazen to ignorant,
fake my death like
a rising savior.