The Fluey Blues

I am much better now, but here is a miserable little piece I wrote during my feverish period a week or so ago.

My tongue is sprouting sickels

Harpooning in my cheek

Porous pus-filled horror of nose and mouth and guts

Why call them mine

These vacant body-lots now colonized

By busy viral lust

Nothing here familiar

Nothing to belong

Just ice and burn and scar.

 

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10 thoughts on “The Fluey Blues”

  1. Picturesque, certainly. And accurate. And evocative of every miserable day spent ill with the flu. So glad you’re no longer in the middle of it!

    Hugs to you,

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