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An adult blankie.
To take one from its owner
will make grown men cry.
When I stay up late
my thoughts move oddly like lab
mice stunted by drugs.
Night winds roar like a
giant parent screaming “Go
to sleep!” without words.
Shopped a membership
warehouse store today. Got six
years’ worth of ketchup.
Hunched and hobbling I
move as if years older, a
taste of what’s to come.
Now that the snow is
gone, her neglected garden
pokes up stalks of loss.
When a righteous man
is caught with his pants down, it’s
likely he’ll get spanked.
Accomplished nothing
’til I took Motrin a whip
that tamed this tiger
He drank to excess
so why am I the one with
the splitting headacne?
Fever distorts time.
Sleep the tesseract that jumps
illness to wellness.
Bright lipstick fools them
into thinking I’m well. No
“How do you feel?”
After the illness
taste dulls on the tongue, food just
fuel to run this husk.
Ibuprofen my
food. Robitussin my drink.
Illness my altar.
I incubate germs.
Feel their heat warp my head, their
chill shake my body.
Snot blocked mucus jammed
sinus pressure. Every breath
a pulse of pure pain.
Reality makes
me sick. Going through laugh track
cop show withdrawal.
Disappointment like
a kidney punch makes it hard
to smile through the pain.
I’ll Dramamine my
self into torpidity,
sleep through drink service.
“She hurt my daughter,
so I wanted to hurt her.
Can’t you understand?“
Inertia roosting
inside me like a hen un-
willing to lay eggs.
Fever like a sun
burn - every surface blazing -
yet chilled to the core.
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