“Zachary Block” by Troy Baillargeon

I heard the disease last afternoon
echoing bass and tremolo
from the woods
of origin from outer space
of origin, not of no thing
the disease told me to close my eyes and walk through the four lanes of route seventythree
to have faith in something from some thing
so I smoked two cigarettes at once for some reason
and went for it
on my first asphaltian step I heard swerving and beeping so I opened my eyes
there was the cure
driving a black escalade
calling me an asshole.