Opioid Sonata
Allegro
I crashed. It was a choir of chaos. Glass refracted light into fragments. She drove a scream into the distance, gravel curling over itself. Stop. It was drawn in vivid strokes. Let the scalpel tell the story. That was a trickle of mercy from her ear. Many revolutions. Steer with the thorax. Sunlight straps you to the ambulance. She bleeds onto the blue-clad nurse, drifting into a world of needles. The car bloomed, a seven-petaled flower. She sang from the blindspot. A red line etched a nocturne. It was metal. It was divine. It was weightless. I misspelled collision with my wrists. He stood to the right, observing the passenger’s tendons. Swung a corona through the windshield. It was delicate filigree. Just one. It was quartz. I needed. Sparkles dusted the trolley. Entwined. I bruised the rearview. She sang from the glovebox. Tell the doctor what didn’t happen. Aluminium can swim. The lid holds secrets. The back of your thoughts is sticky. Staunch. Four doors. Intravenous. Admitted. Reversible in her red jacket, laughter tied behind her like a ribbon. Inserted. Face down, floating toward the next prescription. Sunlight welds you to errata. That was the cathedral. Tell the doctor you’re an article. His crowbar dismantled the order of things. Recover a mouthful of memory in water. The white walls believe in simplicity. It was solitude. The fenceline blessed us, then shattered. Erasure scrapes the chairs. Open everything. My angel birthed against disposable plastic. Solve this. She was singing to the haemorrhage in waiting. The nurse made a red head or tail of it.
Largo
The pills have a beautiful infrastructure. She bleeds out in a roadside chapel. Three hundred milligrams of south-facing blue. The doctor, half-present, locks the clutch. Drips invite you to a silver wedding. It was swerving. It was sacred. Stop watching it go by with your spine. Linoleum diamonds paved the way. Saliva is everything, a rosette on an acrid towel. Let the scalpel circle anticlockwise, cutting through the neighbour’s linen and wiring. I leaned away. The nurses trace her lineage on screens. The car did this to us. I let it go. It was violet. Side effects light up the corridors. I was severed. Just one. Describe the spirals of the burdened nude. People bring devices humming with pollen. The bedstand draped with O negative tassels. Cartilage embedded in the dashboard. Come apart. Fresh.
Minuet
He opens the car’s right eye, a scientific certainty. Clouds descend like pesticide. Inland, death-grey tea is served daily. It’s a write-off. It’s an urn. She auctions a scream from her hospital bed. She’s reached the summit. Untangle your hair from the wheels. The nurse hums, her tweezers precise. Caught between the axle and the subcutaneous blue. The tubes would cry out if they could. A constellation of tarmac is etched on the scalp. These are the stations of a shower. Off-road, into the metal wilderness. Wearing the car like a flash in the bone. Aluminum can kneel down. The cut-throat god adores you. Old women visit your open wound, leaving his card. She’s under the dome of what happened, stoned. Aluminum can swim, in the iris. On re-entry, you’re adorned with pearl vertebrae. The fenceline executed us. Inland, tea is served. A song rises from a trolley. Ladies have crocheted the flannel’s edge. It was calligraphy. The morphine whispers. The stitches drink. On the third day, they roll away the heart.
Rondo
Use strictly as bleeding. It was procedural. I crashed. It’s an atrium. The nurses photocopied the wreck. Whiteness absorbed the ceiling. The car originated anywhere lightspeed. Magnificent cracks in her liver polished her ribs. The asphalt ended yesterday. The dish ran away with the red, singing. Each blink a dark farewell. It was ionic. I was an antonym. People delivered statues of pollen. The pills offered a beautiful depersonalization. Does her pain seem measurable? The road pulls criss-crossed air from our lungs. The car left us a necklace of decibels. The full force of tea. The full force of cotton. The’re cables, she’s breathing in the pale blue void. Each day’s slope in slippers. Headfirst, dragging your tank through the corridors. Plastic thermos of your bladder. Pre-inspection. Keep out. Keep weeping. Keep opening seven bone lives on the ottoman bed. Until the keys to the wreck grow lighter.
