45*21

there's an automobile, white
it exists somewhere, but not in front of the camera
in the leaving moments of time you are the child bride
tattooed to the nth degree
with intense concentration
the foremost thought drifts like snow
your leg is elderly and growing with hair
there is no doubt you will scream
but it will be from inside the dark room
who looks at you with the magnetic eye
drifting from white room to white room
desperate for the image
falling back into his chair exhausted
chugs the bud and plays the shruti
it is an event that repeats on the minute
we are taken to a different room
where they are hooked up to IVs
this seemingly random archive
of distant daydreams colliding with pharmaceutical studies
somewhere deep in Texas the man with the atom brain
rises from the hot moist grave and dances briefly