i don’t remember you / making me so bone-tired, though it’s possible that’s just me. it’s possible, when i first took you / it was in one of those transitory periods where i was never not bone-tired. i don’t remember. i don’t want / to remember. i’ll adjust my alarm by a half hour each day until i slip you between my lips / just before bed. i’ll see how you play with my dreams / if you take them into your own pink mouth / (you are pink now, when once / you were red) and swallow me into your haze of chemistry and coating. or if you lay back / dissolve in my belly, let my dreams create themselves / as they will. we’ll see. i’m not there / yet, four days in and just reaching one / pm. i have low hopes and high expectations. in two weeks / the decision will be made to upgrade into the sun, or to still / progress in the soft pink of a sugar pill. we’ll see / i’m not there yet. i’m only just beginning. i’m parting / my lips, i’m swallowing with cold water, i’m setting / and resetting my alarm. if i jump when it goes off, / i jump. i let spit pool on my tongue, cupped / to receive whatever it is this medicine is meant / to give me. i place the pill on my tongue like a gift / an offering to the grooves in my brain, may they change/ may they allow for change to occur, to settle / and settle into.