through blue night
I’m restless
wheezing. symptoms of every cut, the sharp edge of a
pathogen.
my doctor says…
but I didn’t take her recommendation did I?
so
now I toss and I turn
in green while the clock blinks.
I’m late for everything
when I get to work I find that
the doors are shut; the locks are changed
friends have turned their backs once again
a dog with white fur and red eyes just leapt through the sugar glass window, which is strange. I thought the beast was dead. Now I know that I am closer to death than the beast. I’m closer than ever. No amount of bokor powder will stop this green clock from laughing from pulling open the blinds to the other side. One organ pumping to a halt, one by one, one organ then another. I’m out.
More about: Scott Arford
