Thursday, October 10, 2013

MY MAN, FRANZ


spit-up
a gob
of thick
sweet tasting
gooey blood-laced
phlegm
and felt
relieved.
Not much longer
for this shit,
he thought
and breathed
for the first time
since he took
his first breath.
No more reading,
no more writing.
No more hiding,
no more lucidity,
opacity would be shunned
and a dawn would break
behind eyes
soon to be
shuttered.

This illness
was legit.
It was earthly,
simple,
and just--
just like life
isn't.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2013

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