“
Now reading
Little Sickness Song
I measure the days
in medicine trays oh my
Sunday through Sunday
cloudy or sunny
my pillbox is by my side oh my
my pillbox by my side
And again this morning
the porcelain this morning
cold so white inside oh my
so cold so white inside
Taking the tablets
prescription and habit
five times a day
for all of my days, oh
how many days? oh my, oh my
INVIRASE
The medicine feels like acid inside me
eating away the virus,
and I know I never would have written that down
if I had waited until I said Now,
now I will write that poem about pain,
and not about skipping
through a forest-primeval, along the rivulet,
ignoring the garbage in the stream,
trash tangled in birch roots-bones half buried
in the water and the bank.
As mucus engulfs the ulcerous membranes
and the pain subsides to tolerable,
I dream a law in physics, a body
set in motion that nothing can stop again.