The Staring Night Series No. 3: This Morning's Fever


all night I passed the seconds, turning the pages of a sleep skimmed through, rest ill-read

not quite understanding my condition

in the morning the glass rod clacking against my teeth as the mercury hovered in

yesterday I wore a wet dress for too long, thin as filo dough, but a strong sail to catch the winds

in the water I stepped on a hard metal something that the rescinding tide revealed to be a rusty oil barrel

an oversized soda can beached on the sand and fixed discarded garbage thrown down by the Gods 

inside its damp, salt-rust belly, my fever, incubating darkly from the inside.

0 Responses on "The Staring Night Series No. 3: This Morning's Fever"