All is a time bomb. I am waiting
for selection to run its course:
the resistance rampant in rotten arteries,
and my antibiotic roof drips spills
of bacterial rain. How long before viral thoughts
eat away standard cells?
I am still testing
antidotes against stubborn poisons
only to make nondescript progress
and be stunned at half-life relapses.
Fevers cycle and decay in my veins.
Do I keep tilting at hoax cures
when all my medicinal highs
are precursors to falls?
How many more will fall victim
to my apocalyptic infections?
---
apr 29, 2017
partially inspired by laurie anderson's "language is a virus"
YOU ARE READING
watterson
Poetryan experimental attempt to write a poem a day for the month of april spoiler alert: i did it
