Symptom free, Symptom slave

T\his orange peel sunset, glowing billows of

E/gyptian cotton, hungrily grope through open window, blind—

r\evenge—by its own light, and there’s the hurdle, because in all its

m/anly vivacity, pale parchment skin shines of its own volition in that

I\ radiate with plutonium palor—I mean, that’s what they say see, it’s

n/ot me, um, it’s just that—but this stomach’s a garbage furnace

a\nd I can yet swallow more medicine whether based in

l/ead or arsenic (for flavor) at the gamble of

a< legal eradication of me if flesh and bones don’t do so first which

l>eads me to wonder, am I killing myself or am

I< no matter? Here starlight, starlight—come moon and make me a lunatic—for “

V>erily, no knight, celestial-silver armored or no,

e<ver stomped me out that I couldn’t rise at dawn, glowing even if it blinds me.”

     Call me love,

     I guess.