sick day

i find myself in a green cocoon. 
reaching for a tissue 
& pulling out a dove. my body
is a school of tuna 
headed for & headed for. i want to be
ceaseless & senseless 
with with blood. i wake up
early as the grass. take my face off
& put it back on
hoping all will adjust.
my ache is like another person
until i remember it is only myself.
trying to resist the urge
to see piecemeal. 
just my bones & my joints
telling me they are through with
this fog. asking "where are
the flowers?" i tell my bones
we have to sleep five more days
if we want to see any.
pushing up through the dirt.
there are my thumbs.
i pluck them & say,
"there you are."
the crocus knocks on the window
to ask if i am alright.
i admit i am definitely sick
but going to ignore it as long
as humanly possible. 
unhealthy i know but how else
am i supposed to keep going?
if i say "this is a sick day"
the snails will come 
to take me & all my productivity away.
an alarm in another apartment sounds
& i pretend it is just 
a wayward frog. to hell with
having an obligation. only i
can have obligations. 
promises to keep & all that. 
soon i will cut my hair. so much for 
becoming a lion. the throat lozenge
tastes like a little red giant.
a little self on my tongue.
sometimes i convince myself
i have everything i need 
growing already inside me.
then my body laughs like this
& says, "you are a day away."
the moon comes with a knife.
cuts a hole in the ceiling
to see if i'm alright.
i wave. the moon waves back
& lets me rest. i don't want
to rest but i do.

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