Each western bone in her deserted desert dry body is an orphan
buried under dirt for centuries,
no one is searching
like her father’s first catcher’s mitt.
It is as if her skin is dead
and her heart beats barely
by the sad thoughts in her head
that think she is still alive.
I drive her to the pharmacy to get her prescriptions filled.
What is left of her eyes lights up like a meth-head
who randomly finds his face on a hundred dollar bill,
a dead child in a candy store.
She looks up at me with a missing teeth searching smile,
“I need this for my nausea, this for my headaches,
this for my fevers, this for my diarrhea, this for my decomposing skin…”
“Grandma, what the fuck?” I hastily implore.
“You don’t need any of this bullshit.
Your addiction to all these goddamn pills is why
you only weigh seventy five pounds,
why you can’t sleep,
why you are depressed watching soap operas all day,
and why you are dying a slow miserable death.
This is what is killing you.
You need passion, joy, beauty.
You need life.”
“But Justin….” Sorrow sinks her long cylindrical shaped sailboat.
I look up at the pharmacist. “You are killing my grandmother, you new
world order illuminati machine servant of mediocre madness.”
I walk out to the car scared to death of my multi layered reality,
turn Coma Cinema on and wait…
wait for anger to leave my liver
for blame to swallow his teeth
for pain to jump off the cliff into the river.
I wait for the great gentle feather of compassion
to drop on to the hood of my car
while remembering my grandmother
chasing my childhood into the ocean.
How can the most beautiful people become sick enough to die?
Compassion for the fattest, stupidest, stickiest man alive.
Compassion for the prettiest girl with the most beautiful eyes.
Justin Blackburn “You Are Not A Normal Human Being”
You can buy “You Are Not A Normal Human Being”