A hot sear dances with a cold ache at the base of my skull

Where spine meets head a mini trauma is playing out

Scanned memories of what crime I may have committed

Have I drunk with wild abandon? willfully blind to future pain?

What did I eat? Did I sleep with sufficient air? Messy mortality .

The pills slip down with ice cold water from the bottle by my bed

Coffee and tea will suffice for ‘food’. As in to be ‘taken with’

Now the philosophical question of where drink ends and food begins

These magic beans are taking root in my stomach . Sprouting relief .

We don’t know how lucky we are, till shown how unlucky we can be.