The bones of my resolve

crumble porously,

muscles slackened

by stealthy Spirit-Flu

creeping into my psyche

when my guard is down,

leaving behind only

a molten mass

feverish and limp,

juicy veins squeezed

dry of life-force..

Sleep's finger-crook

beckons temptingly

offering blessed escape

temporary at best

from sickness of the soul.



Eileen Auger

March 21, 2008