A Head of the Migraine

He blew his mind out in a car
but in my case it was with the saxophone
and you come to realize that without your eyes
much of the fun in life is gone.

Oh you can listen to the radio.
Smell her perfume on the invisible neck.
Taste the difference between cinnamon and butter.
Count to five and hold your breath.

But for all of the other senses
(the storm coming at the front of your forehead
an imaginary friend who’s dreaming about you)
the ghosts still come

not caring for your blindness
for pleasures can exist only in a memory
that hates all that you were
for the doing of what you did.

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