There was the day

I realized

I’d stopped praying,

but couldn’t remember when.

Somewhere a machine

counts the pills

it thinks I’m taking.

There is a ghostly infrastructure

thriving on my broken head.

How bad something is or isn’t

can be administrated

at a molecular level.

Paying for it feels like sand

leaving from under my feet

when a wave goes out

soothing and smooth,

pulling me over

unless I step

and step again,

sometimes in the ocean

sometimes on the land.