Psycho Reflex

black blood     the rancid shit    comes from deep in the bowel    that’s a sign      a deadly sign     of cancerous infestation    some vicious invader eating at my guts     that’s slow death      death by maggots    incremental      relentless

I know from the pathology     I’m hanging in the balance     I only have ounces left to live     but don’t we all?      we fend off creeping rot      with lacerated hands and shrieks of denial      not now      please not now     but if not now     when?

my intestines are home      to numerous infestations       and inchoate hunches    I feel things with my gut       the way you might feel with your fingertips      or your love pump       my skull is packed with stained sheets    rare scatological exhibits and stolen graveside flowers      

my public decomposition     has burgeoned to insane dimensions    I have become a spectacle      for leering jaws and wagging tongues     I’m making manic  with the soapbox prophets  where I stand subordinate to my monomania       awkward in my anaemic droplets    frantically attempting regeneration       through my psycho reflex