Secret Family

up over the queasy glossed acre of scrub pine ‘hind your house 
through the glass of the sliding door it passes now without sound 
leave my clothes in a heap on the floor 
collapse into bed 
the world’s dead lid sagging green-black and pregnant 

still it’s a fatuous wish to be blank and brand-new 
noticing motion in this sick and sprawling splendor 

spilling guts 
motes were clouds in spokes of shivering sun 
the life to come, the life to come 
you snorted up an orgasm times twenty 
then one day you can’t turn the shower on
 
look down 
all your birthmarks and scars are gone 
skin pink and virgin 
a burn victim 
what you sloughed off found cold in your bed and mourned 

before ever trying weed 
before the blind opioid glow
he loved his secret family

and what a pain 
hiding dilation 
unnatural brightness 
from the corner store clerk
who never looked up