another cold grey start has shrunk my knackers for the
specimen jar bring
out your covid sheets and deliver us your dead Beelzebub’s children
swarm in for the warmth of my brain pan I’m
in the kitchen wearing
my butcher’s apron I’m dissecting the dreams you bequeathed me
looking for some that
match mine from
back in the days when I could still see your smile
I should have been there to hold your hand I should have been there
in my mortuary clothes but
I’m all choked with the consumption and my blackened lungs heaving you were eaten by moths in yet
another night of dread apprehension this
is the land of the viral load where we deal in the deadly statistics transmitted
to us in bulletins
I
shall mourn you in the privacy of my own bubble my agonies augmented by local
enthusiasts who
smother me with their cold indifference and carefully rehearsed denials I just let everybody do what they have to
do there are priority
listings for those on the rise and cardboard
coffins for distant cousins
I must be paranoid because I’m the only jailor in this prism I locked myself down and threw away the keys long before the plague arrived all my highs are from outside my head I’m just a mirror for the sickness of the world symptomatic of a deeper malaise that makes demons of us all I shall weep for us from within my simulation you can gather my tears from social media before you fetch a big policeman to show me to the door
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