Spirits blind me

to what is commonly

fumbling in my pocket

as identity

screwing my straight

pat into loops of confusion

exhaling my IQ

into cold cuffs

that bind my movement

toward what? I ask

my tenderloined friend

and he slams the

cage to my dim wits

and dumb luck

Spirits blind me

to blurred numbers

on my board

to rank bile

on my lips

to an argument

I had with a

lamp post