Thursday, August 17, 2017

Soliloquy of the Sick

Eyes heavy with heat the light hurts
the chest expanding to shortness
of breath,

I raise my hand to touch
hallucination of healthin a
different world, the ache isn't

Phlegm is but another pragmatic
scheme of disposal.

Sweat the symphony of skin,
Sweat the song of substance,
Sweat the supreme shade of

You pop a pill and, like the painful
globes that they are, close your

And dream of her salve-laden

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