IX. Dormir [comme un sonneur]

IX. Dormir [comme un sonneur]

Wherever I turned my eyes, for the correct bending line to fit
Four strides—For the reach of language, a butterfly core’s cough
Between the legs, drowned in a volatile garlic solution, or sodium thiopental—
Tang yellow lotuses of the pool beneath the stretcher of the routed
Hand—Five days after Breytenbach’s exodus from Pollsmoor prison
December 7, 1982, Charles Brooks, of Texas, is the first to die by lethal injection

His codefendant, sentenced to 40 years—The second eclipse; the State injecting
Liquidity for decades, is underway (2014)—A gibbous moon rising before her pyre (1430) as it fits
Upright in a contracted pelvis—Selected women performed the exams to secure the sign, with the prison
Mandating signing a cross for a name, for a life of conjuring, or horse theft—Guerrillas coughing
Give away their position—A horse gallops on post-haste; feel it, this center of gravity’s thiopental
Disintegration just beyond the ninth rib's sternal barrel vault defenseless against routing

Achilles tendons—A central bore catheter depresses it in 60 seconds, with the veterinary pentobarbital for routing
Latex through arterial, venous, hepatic systems—Matted strays, to their dry-packed vacuum bags; others, for incineration; and there, the drug’s bid for lethal injection
Since Hospira exited the market (2009)—For three hundred years, 1600-1900, the thiopental
Bottle of the saint’s body obstructing grace—No one knew the figures, nor from where they came—Now fit
Four blood moons in succession; scattering green through violet, the meat red CT scan, a near-perfect frozen infant mammoth freed from a Siberian prison
From sputtering, inhaling mud; vacuum solid, spared formal alcohol—The temperature of this form; coughing,

Having been brooded upon, autolysis and involution a finger’s breadth, where blue confines of the possible cough
An atrioventricular block of the placid foaling horse—Analgesia acts on the butterfly-shaped substantia gelatinosa routed
With afferent inputs to the clouded clerestory, and like a rotten limb, we have rejected you—The prison
Warden checks his watch, oversees a grimacing mouth sucking from a solvent of birth cord, until the next parturition—43 minutes after the first injection,
Clayton Lockett’s heart seizes (2014), fails, from an infused electrolyte searing up his arm—Sodium pentothal
Three to seven mg/kg confers no analgesic action, where the minders pulled the curtain—Truth serum’s trimmed ampoules in a spine’s interlocking fit

Potassium reenters a cell, repolarizing it—Obstructive, an unborn foal is guaranteed by the seller, but what of the soul’s fit?

Her infant conduit; in spite of black-box portents, was misshapen, with the mistaken inheritance—Cough
Screaming, with the stream of fentanyl keeping the intubation patent—He told me, I could only approximate this existence; accept it as her property—As sodium pentothal
Amasses in the saturated excelsior, to repeat its portal circuit, the maternal tendency routed

From a mother’s absence—To make her sane; the seizures suppressed by the syrup, with  

Amelogenesis staved off, which would make her teeth crenelated and horrific; we could not leave the prison
Of indications, the prisoner deprived of a will to walk without this lunge line, now stares its inducement—Without sympathetic injections

To overlook all progress, or else concede an alabaster and jade world without issue, by an injection’s
Parachute—I am incited by a smoothed expression, if not overcome by the guilt, concern for the anesthetized neonatal day seven, for the brain’s scaffolding pulled to pieces, and fit
Her survival; though she is repatriated, in what seems to be an exile, like everyone else, into a span of ambition—A prison’s

Inertia, for a time, for our vacancy, for nine months to rectify it—Entering a fullness of time, to cough

While fastening the girth—Drawing you in further, to intercept the horizons, by this condition of emptiness, in spite fumes of oleaginous sodium pentothal
In the jurisdiction of death, the flea-bitten gray horse rider’s chasteness, where white nights route,

Reverse themselves—We enclose a body of devastating honesty, if not transcendence, where concluded injections failed to route—
Prison of the Earth’s circumference, a cough of disquiet, three more times in six-month spaces,
With the sodium thiopental reversed, to heat-set coincidence into conflagration, being forced to take it, and make it fit—