Wiped out
(My hands smell of vicks vapo-rub.)
Bah, bad bugs, bed bugs, bugged to bed, must. Ugh, bad bugs, nasty virus bad bugs, mid-level low-hanging bad-weather ever-present pests, find another bed. Wind? Clear sweep? No not yet? Salt, sore throat rinse, swish bad bugs out, salt should clear. Gold once, minerals both, fortresses on salt roads, Eine Kleine Nachtmusik: bed, golden sleep. Viral trades: I give you mine, you give me yours, let’s go to bed, fluid gold, bugs embrace, salty too. Cough, cough, now try to sleep. Sweet dreams.
October 7th, 2004 at 12:24 pm
Most interesting bit of poetry I’ve read recently. Get better.
Distance is sometimes a blessing cough cough.