When I’m Released I’m Smoking A Straight Line To You. Got Me?

When I’m Released I’m Smoking A Straight Line To You. Got Me?

Under palms, sour breeze of poolside blowback—
your day metal-splashed by ghostlike blowback.

You make me feel drowning nine times. I swim
through your ruse, certain of divine blowback.

You make me feel like girl. Or homo. Know
what? In return, I will midwife blowback.

You pyramid me now but you will pay.
Sniffing at scraps, you’ll eat dogpile blowback.

You say I may never be released, but
I will be released. I prescribe blowback.

My boy comes to your city some day, not
by accident. Plants overripe blowback.

The blood on your windows will be just. You
drink our oil, so must face vampire blowback.

You say you are free and we are not. How
is this so if we globalize blowback?

When I’m Released I’m Smoking A Straight Line To You. Got Me?