When I go into plank,
please realize this is not
my showing off yoga talent.
I am an epileptic. Please,
when I fall down convulsing
in your liquor store, which  
I only entered to buy a pop,
know I am not a drunk, so please
do not kick me in the head.
I am an epileptic. I know
how strange it seems to
watch a man go rigid, crash
wide-eyed face forward, ****  
and **** himself, make a stink
of public places. So please,
please do not scream at me.
I am an epileptic. I will
likely come to, but then
comes the *****. I am
sorry for that, more sorry  
than you could possibly be  
for me. My world is as such,
and I did not wish to intrude  
on your day. I will go away,
as soon as I gain faculties,
lift from murk some understanding
where I might be. Embarrassment
is not easy to carry, but I will
take it, stinking, slinking away.
I am an epileptic. I am
so very sorry.