Fugue

(for Natasha Lyonne)

split
i am split
like sunday i scream vomit

i asked her for water
and she gave me gasoline

no sodium pentothal no milk no ice 

superset i try to think of me
and can only think of me instead
when does it end
this zipper confusion
of whiplash licorice anger
spliced with a musical interlude schizm
of brainfade terrazzo tiles on formica teeth

i scream
one sexually molested dog
and a collapsed lung later
here i am
back to back
good as new
knew it would be easy
but can’t. but can’t.
instead
ice cream