a storm comes for the body
puts that taste of metal
in the mouth
shivers, twitchy muscle
the self dissolves 
into a fog

which is a kind of grace
but then it congeals into solid form
and wraps its grip
around the throat

do not be afraid

hormone crisis, hardwired terror
empties the bowels


I got COVID and went to school
learned so much
didn’t read any books but now I know
white knuckle
cortisol dump
I circle the hospital and then the house
feeling great
nothing like a steroid ride
rose garden
family plot
I stop and stand to be admired
pull up my spine 
while my body shrinks inside my suit



He lumbers into the bathroom, hangs up his robe and quickly enters the shower. When he is naked, he does not look around lest he be surprised by the image of the woman-pig reflected everywhere in the mirrored walls that surround him. He grunts with complaint as he knocks over soap and shampoo bottles, breaks towel rods.

The water never comes out hard or fast enough. It trickles and leaks. He is so dirty, so angry. He wants to be hosed down.

Is he dreaming of washing away his troubles or of climbing into the womb from which he was forcefully expelled? Or is that he is so repulsive, even water avoids touching him.