The Name of the Drug

By Katelynne Davis

No longer the dealer’s face and tongue, but
his pockets full of hands.
No longer his hands,
the delicate wrists, the fingers I could turn eternally, but
his pockets.
No longer his pockets, turned eternally inside out, but
their contents
No longer content
with their contents, but
their insides
turned eternally
out
of his hands.


Photo by Katelynne Davis

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