Sick Day

anapestic antiseptic

My orangutan tongue like a vestige 
     of Bornean rain
In the mouth of my mind thick with mucus
     and moldering rind
In the middle of morning my chest 
     with its treasure of phlegm
I present my adornments 
     poetically rancid and strained 
Through the Indian summer 
     its music a murmuring mulch
With the rhythms of Rilke 
     and Auden's intelligent ghosts
That inhabit my eyelids 
     like flocks of strange birds in the dawn
To convey this alert 
     to imply my intent to ascribe
To the dawn disappointments 
     unfathomed by nightmares untold.

So I’m calling in sick just to tell you 
     I’m not feeling well.
At the sound of the tone in the jungle 
     my fever has wrung
These few droplets of sweat 
     from the drooping malarial moon
And my rational faculties 
     left me a sweet goodbye note
That I read in the back 
     of the rickety hospital bus
As I drifted to sleep 
     and began to remember my life.

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