the sun released a photon
into my lap.
stretch. yawn. shiver.
to curl back into a
liquid-smooth pearl diver
or engage with the peril
of my own biology.
the question of the day
isn't rhetorical. it's a ripening, decaying
flesh eating virus
that itches like a plague.
May 15, 2016
May 15, 2016 at 7:19 PM UTC
the sun released a photon
into my lap.
stretch. yawn. shiver.
to curl back into a
liquid-smooth pearl diver
or engage with the peril
of my own biology.
the question of the day
isn't rhetorical. it's a ripening, decaying
flesh eating virus
that itches like a plague.
Request permission to use this poem