It’s
ten the bells say, but my eyes will not open.
Sluggish,
lugubrious steps
Not
‘slow’;
that
is too fast for me. Leeeeentemeeeeent
Lentement.
Lendemain?
The
fly happy in his 40C state
dances
around my giant
Bulbous
grave of a head.
His
blood
speeds.
Mine
thickens like wet rolled tar in July.
A
frog whose heart beat in Winter
Can
only beat once.
Must
conserve.
Must
get through.
