I am covered in a wet darkness,
viscously roaming my foolishly welcoming body
                               like a foreign disease
exploiting the tender territory
                               of sensible skin
for every worthwhile infectious moment.

-I can't help but think of analogy.

Breath: a precious thing,
thick and heated
like the city pollution outside,
burning through my nose during each painful voluntary cycle;

carrying traces of pirate scents wishing to frighten
the modest treasure out of virginal sensibilities,

             in and out

the plunderous space of craven lungs.

Pools of gasoline swell on top of stained eyes
unyielding to be shut by whatever frail power
still lingers beneath;
with droplets
        filling up both ears
until sound from
all those pointless conversations
ride softly into a dullness that fades to phantom impression-
I had a similar experience on the plane.

I've seen enough.
I've listened enough.

I cry not from anything to do
with the heart but from a build up in the head
incrementing to a growth where my skull expands
to trespass the surface of four walls
and the room becomes nothing but cephalic irony.

The body,
a silly remnant spurring feelings of what once was,
reluctantly obeys
the violence
of torrent waves,
and I submerge darkly on
                        the bedrock of bed-riddeness


with the one activity that has solely defined me,
now stuck in loop.
now stuck in loop.
now stuck in loop.
now stuck in loop.

For the first time in a long time
I am not looking forward to the light of the morning
and the dry renewal that accompanies it,
                         which I know will not be there this time.

"You need a strong immune system to travel."

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Literature, art, science, travel. Writing fiction, non-fiction, poetry. Always wrestling with language.

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