Jonathan B. Aibel
INFUSION DAY
Awake to that special pitch
in my voice, eyes wide to cerulean
windows whistling, I'm in love, I'm in blue
sky fall, O Dex, you make me
hop, you make me
bubble and leap
out my own skin.
My guts knot and dance to your tune
as I try to remember who I was
before I took you.
You make me into Times Square
at New Years', jumbled with a crowd
reveling, dancing, sick-drunk, cold
each one of me lonely
and trying to forget
the trouble that has led me
to you, O Dexamethasone.
I'm going to stay up all night,
I'm going to read fortunes in my stars,
the few I can see
I'm going to talk all over myself,
all my shivering, drunken selves tripping
over my selfs, an ocean of me’s
roaring, stuffing my faces with street food
knowing I'll regret everything,
tomorrow, or maybe the next week,
sure to joyfully vomit on my own shoes —
I am all appetite, all dammed river
looking for a pipe or a crack to crash through.
Dex, you make me flow backward,
you make me rise at night and set
at dawn, laughing, crying, pleading
to let me sleep.
After this Dex, I swear,
I am never, speaking to you