palliative by derek lessard

If I could say
that being high
was heaven,
then I could say
a place I’ve been
so many times
is a place
I’ve never known.
Long, long half-life,
boilerplate derelict.
Lusterloss among generics.
Feelings sold by gross,
without change-
they know no advent,
they haven’t names.
How can you say
a drug is heaven,
when you’ve never been?
You’ll never see
the flowers fall
into the blackness,
this burial plot a mark
cut into wordless ground,
sentience of these petal landings
on a breathless chest.
But still, I say
I know so well
these places
I have never been.