day 1

             pray for me, for i am so helpless and alone
                                       from prayer to saint jude, patron saint of lost causes

                                      under a veil of medicines and labored breathing,
                                      shades cinched in, no splinter of streetlight

                                      labored breathing, tongue wheeze, thoughts
                                      a veil of sickness

                                      i felt the mattress shaking, bracing my arms
                                      on the padding, holding it down. it was imaginary—

                                      the mythology of california; a half-dream,
                                      earthquakes rising from a sleep fever,

                                      rising from a warm tongue of syrups,
                                      tremors that were figments, made up,

                                     the company i had then, when calling
                                     out for lost causes.
            

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