acetaminophen

white & small & with fins;
i feel the pills come alive
as i swallow them,
their thrumming in 
the tributaries of my veins.
this one is a goldfish &
this one an egret stalking
the marrow of my bones,
feathers dropping in the 
red river, everything
is dyed maroon in me,
a one-note kaleidoscope.
i wonder what will happen
if i swallow the whole
bottle & i look inside
at the pills & they're all
white ants, circling 
the container so i shake
it to make them stop moving.
fever reducer, these animals
are made of december &
they're too small. the bottle
gone empty in me, i want 
to call my mother to ask
what the appropriate dosage
should have been but it's too late. 
my liver becomes
a salmon & swims 
out my mouth. i don't tell
anyone because they would
be worried. i just eat 
more white creatures,
pills in a cereal bowl,
lost in milk & scooped out
with a spoon. how dulled
can it get? all the lines
of the world gone out of focus
& soft, even my finger nails
become velvet. i wander
outside, barefoot 
in the winter & all
the lines of my body disappear 
into the tails of kites,
the strings of balloons,
i stand, a collaboration
of colors: white & orange
& pink. what keeps them together?
i eat more acetaminophen
until the color too disbands.
over the course of several
days i'll resemble.
one of the colors will
call my mom & tell her
that i have a fever &
that all my bones are
full of fish. another color
will write love letters furiously
to a block cell phone number,
another color, the pink color,
will dangle on 
the ceiling of our bed room,
trying to whistle.
white ovals, matte texture.
i lay the last out on
the palm of my hand &
i fill my pockets with 
them before leaving. 
i hear my mother
saying 
take two every 
6 hours 
& so i take three