Flooded Poem by Michael McCall

what buzzes more then the hum of a fluorescent lamp
yellow light beating down on my balding head
a lonely place
sweat collecting
muscles spasm under the pressure of skin
my nose is running
my eyes are bleeding
my mouth is sour
if I could get out from under this space
the weight
the pasty waist land of my skin
the fickleness of my bent fingers
and I look flustered
bitter
dripping with anxiety
and flooded with guilt