Treasure Island

Mark R Slaughter


Illness


Clawing at the guts of life
(The enteron exudes in desperation) ,
Targeting a disconnection of the fizzing brain,
Viral armies work the anatomic landscape,
– breaking, entering; raping the
very cells that constitute the unison of being.

How dare they! How bloody dare they!
And what invades the strafing virion–? Nothing!
Such invincibility cocks a snoop at the melting body.

Ah! but we fight back! Immunity in memory, recognition;
Heritable blueprints, borne of evolution – phew! relief –
Might there be some retribution?

Not always…

Often times the little nasty shoots itself – right through the foot,
Overstimulating the host’s immune system…
‘So what? ’ The creepy imp retorts. ‘There are plenty more fish (hosts)
In the sea. Huh! Like me.

And so the rawness of ill grazes, repugnant, on the flesh,
Rasping away the soul.
Sh*t! You can’t even see the little b*st*rds!
They’re eating you away and you don’t even see them –
It’s as if one day, your body suddenly decides to rot –
Before your very consciousness.

‘You’re dying’ unfolds the message.
And with that, I’ll continue to move on through the
Elemental cycles of God-awful Nature –
Sh*t!


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010










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Sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick
Sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick
Sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick
Sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick
Sick sick sick sick sick sick sick sick
I'm so sick

Submitted: Saturday, February 20, 2010
Edited: Thursday, May 12, 2011

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