I shiver
and
I writhe
The temperature
continues
to rise
Pain pushes
tears out
of my eyes
Fever came
to visit me
last night
And She
didn't leave
this time
And I never stopped to wonder why.

Body broken
Paralysed is
the mind
Ears tired
of the
preacher's advice
Eyes crave
a shield from
the sunshine
A hand to
caress beneath
the hairline
A pledge
of healing
from inside
Oh, you fool. You are so naive.


Vanquished by
the collective
apathy of reality
Imprisoned,
I swallow these
chemicals with servility
I shelter them
In the bloodstream
Treat the symptoms
Not the disease
I know
She will return again
someday with a surprise
And even though I am
Terrified
I will just take a pill
and tell Her I am fine.

with my fever burning at 104,
i have no friend to call,
to make me feel better,
to make me feel home,
pity tis for me,
i am sick and home alone

Got lost and stopped by the grotto
struck deals with villains,
and though I'm in my feelings
kneeling and *******
I payed to be ripped off
cadences dip, lost the lotto

Watery graves appealing strange
the solution is lame
the parade's an insane path to follow
Radical urchin burden
grifting the current
mechanisms infected
luring fevers to wallow in, ad absurdum
fathom futility in survival
famine imbibes a stifled echo of revival
in my head

I'm just playing dead for my recital

better informed to the abhorrence I'm entitled

feathered in form alluring sword alarm from Michael

clever to wars imparted forcible and vital, to the era

but staring in awe before the cycle

Bearing a maw beneath the throes along the final.

Bury me after my heart
and guard informal notions of the lauded
if calluses lift the filthy and applaud it

whittle the simply to the too intense or lawless
for a history glistening through a rose of sickly fondness
I won't ask if you were listening to all this
but I must admit
I don't think I can trust you

to be honest...

A Trojan horse. As Cleopatra in a carpet
Enters hidden on a breath
Incubus; droplet alien drawn in,
sets about its work; brooding job to do.

Awaken a little stiff, sweat and grog
A scratchy throat; a swollen lymph
Shower power, rinse and coffee makes well.
No. Twas not to be this false alarm, I’d grabbed.

Working fast now, growing, flooding
like snow melt hitting parched desert.
Seeping into cracks; changing blood-scapes.
Reprographic virus; dissociative – to thrive.

A false pardon was granted this morning
Cruel deception, such as played on Nick Bottom
teased mind into belief; a surge of relief,
Just early morning rust; blow away sleep dust.

I am sick of it now, the sickness; the bug.
My alien visitors; my too close encounter
making things smell wrong – like vinegar
and my nose pop as each side turns to unblock.

As big screen drama – epic plays out in my mind.
The white cells; the soldiers wiping out alien-kind
Dualling MacDuff and MacBeth in Dunsinane cell
Waging battle within me; my man-flu living hell.

©pofacedpoetry Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) all right’s reserved

Cobwebs for eyes
and a cotton ball tongue.
I can't see what everyone else does
and even if I did,
how could I tell you
it hurts?

No one ever expected my buried body
to climb back out of the grave
I dug for myself.

No one ever expected my blackened lungs
to draw breath again,
to breathe the air that smothered me.

Twisted claws
gnashing teeth
slimy scales

And when I wake up
I finally see
that the nightmare
was always me.

Desolate:
Barely illuminated by the street light,
A dark figure stands,
With its hood up,
Looking into my bedroom window.

I wait for it to more forward,
To begin its expedition,
In murdering me.

But it does not move an inch,
As if to taunt me and say:,
"Stop looking."

sail the fields

like her silhouette would
whisper: “someday

the bluebells will
crush beneath your
fingers”

like her sunlight would
wander: someday

the soil
will cover her

footsteps.

between the sweat
on the sick bed, i circle stray satellites
clustered on the ceiling. i let bliss speak

and leave me weak.

     my sun
slow licks my lips:
a fire spit. hot tongue. bony hipped.
i strum his back. his skin
and soul.

i reach fever pitch
     and burn up 'til i hit
the floor.