HEROIN MONK

When the Zoloft began to help,

my mood lightened a bit.

I crossed myself absently,

swallowing each pill like a communion.

Stunned, I watched as the sun

became more lamp, less blade.

Later, breathing became my drug of choice,

and noticing the smallest detail was

the flame beneath my melted spoon.

In bliss, I sailed past sky and clouds,
past space, into a dream of God.

Even now I smile as

The hot needle
(my inhalation and exhalation)

(My presence, my focus)

hovers near the vein.