The boils grew like cherries;
small, shiny, clustered,
fiery-red and hard as rage.
Stuffed to screaming
with their own venom,
they vomited torrents
of poisoned blood and
three green-white cores of pus,
little jellied lumps of disgust.
Exorcised, the boils shut their mouths
and healed, leaving prim lips of scar.
Those boils hurt worst
just before they drained,
I recall
as I write the last line of a poem.
Jan 9, 2011
Jan 9, 2011 at 7:20 AM UTC
The boils grew like cherries;
small, shiny, clustered,
fiery-red and hard as rage.
Stuffed to screaming
with their own venom,
they vomited torrents
of poisoned blood and
three green-white cores of pus,
little jellied lumps of disgust.
Exorcised, the boils shut their mouths
and healed, leaving prim lips of scar.
Those boils hurt worst
just before they drained,
I recall
as I write the last line of a poem.
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