Cocaine Superman

Days of dreaming in fake greenhouse lights where computers compute

and I’m redundant maybe one day obsolete?

I can’t work with numbers, fractions are just distractions,

signposts pointing in the wrong direction

long division subtraction sex friction and how do you read a map?

Along the easting? Up the stairs?

Boy meets girl girl meets boy meets boy meets girl on girl

Hand jobs blow job in the back of taxis,

midnight becoming a.m. Snorting cocaine in cubicles where the smell of effluence is overpowering but you don’t care because you smell it everywhere

every single second of every single day

from when your mother pushed you out and she

shit on your head and the student doctor laughed

and you’ve never forgotten the thing you need to remember

but it’s there,

hidden away,

It’s there.

I am a 6 figure grid reference.

I am alpha numeric.

I can be broken down and filled.

I am data.

I am captured on tape.

I am DNA.

I am Superman flying in red fucking pants

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