by Jerry Ratch

They shoot up through the soles of their feet

once the veins in their arms are all used up.


They shoot up in their necks

like cows on the African Savannah

whose blood from a slit in the neck vein

is used to feed whole tribes,

mixed with the milk from the same cow.

It's supposed to taste more or less

like a strawberry shake.

And they are feeding the frenzy of the poppy

inside the ice of life.


They shoot up, and they shoot up and shoot up

as the camera in God's eye

watches and sighs.