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i'm sick again.
ears swell shut.
nose to itch,
coughing like a trumpet
signaling charges of
swollen brain pockets.
arms swell shut.
heart to itch,
sighing like a trumpet
signaling charges of
swollen self pity.
when do i allow myself to get over her?
i thought i had beaten this cold.
where is the chicken soup?
an infection,
sized and plural throughout
time and my body,
a capsule of kill me
and leave me in heaven,
a deadly wishing sickness is this love,
parting internal alienation.
somewhere, consumption must reduce.
love must wane.
e coli's
kind
distance does not exist.
cures, echoes, and strong arms.
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