Breath Deeply
I was brought up from sleep
this morning
having swallowed a stink bug.
In self-defense, it ejected its spray
of bitter bile & I was unable
to breath deeply for an hour.
The press of coffee tasted
like formaldehyde.
But eventually, my body
fought back the ancient chemical
—it is always trying to straighten me out.
I ought to be thankful for
my internal pharmacy. I am not. Something about gratitude seems dishonest
or forced, when directed at my
faculties. No, it is not just that. All sorts
of gratitude, even as a little boy
with zero axes to grind, like hiccups—
it has always gotten caught in my craw.
There is suicide in it.
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