To
excretion
And
sweat
I’ve
no choice
But
to deflect,
All
and any inquiries
Into
the matter of
health.
To
rattling cages made of rib
And
all the gelatinous masses
Vacationing
in, I must accept
Any
and all, lack of
Comfort
experienced through,
Confined
in this condition, relegated
To
such positions of internal anarchy
As
to the removal of
Such
insurgents,
A
healing process works its way,
One
I find to be, entirely cruel
When
it comes to the rehabilitation
Of
the self inside
I've had the same damn insurgents for days. This is an incredibly witty write.
ReplyDeleteUggg hate being sick more than almost anything, you really stirred up my ocd. Plus I still have to try and fix that damn paw of cassie, stupid allergy paw picking cat...haha Keep your germs..lol
ReplyDeleteeww...i hope you feel better man...and may the insurgents get bored of your body and move on to greater waste baskets...smiles.
ReplyDeletesmiles.. those are the real poets that turn sickness into poetry..smiles..hope you're already feeling better fred
ReplyDelete