Life's a hit. Dipping the feed
in electrolyte, a needle
piercing the gelatinous skin
I'm a gun-runner under purple
skies, always at Harare
trying to get to Aden.
I have iron limbs.
Or a private citizen
shadowing neighbours. If
we’re the same, we win.
Withdrawal's abrupt
returning me to clean, sharp
metal. My mind's a needle
plunged in jelly, running
dreams, cages, courage
all lives are experiments in living.
