El Hombre Invisible
A red orchid bloomed at the bottom of the dropper.
He hesitated for a full second, then pressed the bulb,
watching the liquid rush into the vein as if sucked by
the silent thirst of his blood. There was an iridescent,
thin coat of blood left in the dropper, and the white
paper collar was soaked through with blood like a
bandage. He reached over and filled the dropper with
water. As he squirted the water out, the shot hit him
in the stomach, a soft sweet blow.
Look down at my filthy trousers, haven't been
changed in months.... The days glide by strung on
a syringe with a long thread of blood.... I am forget-
ting sex and all sharp pleasures of the body -- a grey,
junk-bound ghost. The Spanish boys call me El Hom-
bre Invisible -- the Invisible Man....