Wednesday, May 01, 2013

V. 2, #34: May 1, 2013

A bad taste at the back of my sick throat,
as if the Toad of My Most Loathsome Thoughts
were squatting there to rub his slimy bloat
against my tongue's most pink, receptive dots;

Or rather if the Sewage Treatment types
who purify the gurglings of my Id
have not repaired the rusted, leaky pipes
that bear the filth away. ("Tough cookies, kid.")

There must be scientific terms to name
the foulness trickling toward my stomach wall
and reasons for its flavor; just the same,
I'd much prefer it not exist at all.

But no--I'll keep on gulping down the crap
until my white blood cells shut off the tap.


1 comment:

Scott said...

Yes, I'm still feeling bad. Who knew there was poetry in sinus drainage? Then again, maybe there isn't. :P

The way this has hit me reminds me of a time from the first year, which produced this sonnet. Luckily the illness is not nearly as bad as the previous one...yet.