2-11 Angel-Dusted

I have no idea how this one evolved, when I wrote it many months ago. Warped humor, I suppose.

 

Angel-Dusted

 

and bath-salted,

 

he aimed a corkscrew into his palm

and twisted and twisted

 

until it screwed through

the dorsal skin nearly an inch—

 

like a badly botched titanium screw surgery—

 

and he reached for a bottle of wine

 

and I waited for the next twist.

 

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