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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Inspirational · #2205676
Dan is sick, yet manages to get to work.
Dan pulled himself up from wet noodle state,
the truck that hit him was a Mack, he felt
like all his bones were gone and he
was only flesh, without the merest
modicum of muscle…

…but there was work to do at nine,
a presentation for Corporate CEO’s;
damn sick torpedoes ramming him
this day, broadsiding him with
ague and tired, that nausea
which lies around like fetid
pink, and laps the belly
shores like so much
sewer ooze…

there is occasion for my rise,
so I must shake myself some
strength though I am feeling
hideous—my insides are
calliope, I’m flat as sass
from a mime; Earth
has vanished, and
I’m a void minus

Pinching the skin above his eyebrow,
(making sure he was alive), Dan
rolled off bed and pushed his
six foot frame to stand, as
spin the room did like a
hellish ride of sorts.
He gulped a Diet
left out
all night, found
the strength to once
again race with the rats.

34 Lines
Writer’s Cramp Winner
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