Warm beer and hot milk
to soothe the first breath
of head-cold. I felt it as
I walked the long, unfaltering
street back home,
and in the way my shadow
stalked me on the stairs.

I have taken to an illness
all summer,
so I am hoping for some
warmth in the winter,
some collarbone,
some heavy breath,
some coming together,
some bed I can rest.

We can lounge on the trestle-table,
or some other method of squalor,
so long as I make my chance at living,
so long as I live to write another.

You took me to the alley
and told me to
take it all in my chest,
you said I would feeling belonging
to an alien feeling,
a higher form of living
to all that has come before.

I have been taking pills
all summer,
so I am hoping for some
improvement in the winter,
some grave inspiration,
some great new idea,
some annual edition and
some kind of career.

We can dine on the breadcrumbs
left over from the feast,
we can toast to our freedom
from that untreated disease.