This chronic virus grasped me by the throat
Not lover, not rapture, the thunder of hooves seeking sinner
A Gorgon, Kraken, Swamp Thing of the blood rose
I cried; Is this retaliation for not caring enough? I do! I do!
But those who don’t act, are only words and armchairs, the hypocrisy of ourselves, fattening in our prayers
Epstein Barr knew this well, it is after all, an insidious invader enjoying its art
What did I do to deserve you as my bedfellow? I asked one night
Can’t you just leave me be? Return to the days before you feverishly claimed me your supplicate?
Swimming in my blood, high levels of scarlet poison, whispering; I could give you fibromyalgia, MS, cancer, chronic fatigue
But I chose to cause you to sicken every day, your stomach, your achilees heal, my throne
And as you write, think on me, for I infect you all, only some are immune
You, you are weak and afraid, with your desire to be a writer, which you’ll never truly be
Wanna know why?
You don’t have the personality or the guts
You don’t have the PEP
Imagination and pretty words aren’t enough
You need a marketing machine, a robust ego, stainless steel skin, no demons in your head
I don’t have any demons, I lied
Tucking the beasts behind my eyes
I may not get feverish over publicity tours or spend eight hours online, learning how to be adored
Because I’m trying, despite you, to live fully, without so much noise
I want to sit on my stoop and observe the flight of birds through water
That’s how I eventually write or embroider my tongue with song
By being quiet and inhaling the vibration of life
Like our favorites who didn’t always write daily
Sometimes, there’s more in less
In our world it’s too much 24/7
The population bomb broadcasting its static purr
I am a bad self publicist, I don’t submit enough or live for attentions
I’d rather drive listening to a favorite song and tune into my imagination
You can use too many words
You can say too much
I’m not trendy enough, too pale, too short, too sleepy
Or is that you Epstein Barr?
Infecting my remaining motivation?
Obliterating the words before they are written?
That thin wristed girl, who balanced in high heels, dancing in the dark
Her head full of sound
If you came and found me now
Stroking the night clear of wreathed clouds
I’d be sleeping beneath the magnolia
Learning the runes of its roots