Fever

It almost feels good
Hot feet
Cold scalp
The pulsating Om of deliverance
All the funny fibers attached to my scapula
Bowing with electric independence
I even asked my wife to give up on something today
We never give up
Procrastinate yes
Give up no
The freedom of failure
Grabbing onto my wool socks
Like a dog
Decisively ripping or relinquishing

The spiritually motivated call it
Surrender
I even call it that on occasion
The beaten
The downtrodden
The wrongly accused
They participate in this freedom too

But without some nice shades
To protect my eyes from glare
It certainly feels more like giving up
And I'm alright with that

Some foreign entity
Tickling you
From the inside

Somewhere back
When fire fell into the ocean
And all that steam
Set to rise
Into thick air
Then back down again
And up and down
Crawling into rocks
And beaten into cracks
These festive little party hoppers
Decided to go along for the ride
Hitching their business
Onto a hair
Or under a nail

Here on the train
I wouldn't want to sit next to me
And I guess there is a certain freedom in that as well
All hot and bothered
Cold and shaky
Equipped with soft paper
Folded into neat sheets
So clean and perfect
I try my best to remain neutral
Invisible

Tickle
On the inside

Cough,v.
Tissue, n.
Spit, v.
Pocket, n./v.

Squint, v.
Grimace, v.
Squint, v.
Smile, v.
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4.16.08