DISEASE STATE
a feather a spindly feather
caressing indentions of feet
tracing whorls of wriggling worms
upon sensitive flesh
turning a tickle into a tiny itch
escalating into irritation
stop the tormentor
sure rapid strokes of fingers
scratch blissfully
until done
a feather a silky feather
gliding against bones
creating unseen hieroglyphics and mysterious pictograms
underneath the surface
metamorphosis of irritating itch to the
All-Consuming
can’t reach
bones are not bare to the air
wrapped in a fragile barrier of skin and blood
try
fingers becoming claws that rip and tear
nails are molded with globules of flesh and
rivulets of blood flow like rivers down legs
lubricating
rasp of scabbed-over skin no longer heard
scars will be left—the size of shoeprints
wrong to scratch in a public place
red stains white sheets
but the itch is there
just beneath
just a little further
stop thinking
scratch some more
HELLSCUMACIOUS DRUG DEALING DAYS
Hello to the Hell,
Of a drug dealer, grapples
With a priceless generiphobe,
Brought back the “knockoff”
In favor of the brand.
Welcome to the World,
Of a dopedirger, returns
From her fallacy of a funeral,
Desiring of her drugs
Eight days early.
Morning to the Mourning,
Of a lacto-oblivious tech, chomping
On a dry grilled cheesewich brunch,
Carping on the science of dry processed flakes
While captives try to escape.
Night to the Neutered,
Of lemon technology, looming
Shadows of pharmaceutical impotence—
Cash register and digitalized dormitories of records and privacy.
Slam the door on the frustrating view.
View it no more,
Till the past violates the dreams.
Tarnished Gold or The Yellow Brick Road Speaks Out
What is all this repetitive caterwauling about?
If I wasn’t half deaf already, I would be completely now.
Dorothy, dear, do you suffer from early onset dementia?
I heard it is common to misplace a few small words like
Follow the Yellow Brick Road.
Let me tell you of arthritis,
Creaking of the joints like your friend, the Tin Man there.
Several bricks lost forever, extra weight bad for my mortar.
You have started on my path with those ruby stilettos.
No more skipping on the Yellow Brick Road.
Shards of straw and matted fur all flying about, obscuring my view,
Unfortunate, since I’m to hobble first.
And sticky too. If Toto hikes on me one more time,
I’m misplacing you all in a deep, dark forest.
Head into trouble with the Yellow Brick Road.
Old, tarnished gold around the edges, but even with myopic eyes,
I see your fate.
The Great and Powerful Oz! My, what a joke!
Squashed the East, be aware of winged Wicked West minions.
There will be a parting of our ways soon, only girl-child of your obnoxious five.
But for now,
Follow the Yellow Brick Road.
–Art by Marcos Lomba
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