after a long illness, age of swing, bland pornography, not with these lungs, poem, Poetry, sonnet, speak in tongues
I’ve been chasing the septic, the abscessed,
the wild and purulent. Disease is a grand
stand-in for lustfulness these days. A quest
for what others give away free. Not bland
pornography –– Promises of what might
happen. Let them exhale. Even the most
chaste and vestal can still hack & cough. Light
me up, dead man, with fever. Some still boast
of their prowess; as if the age of swing
might go back as before. Not with these lungs.
Not with this immune system. When I pull
on your hair and say, “you’re sick,” I’m being
literal. When I start to speak in tongues
that just taint I’m spewing, by the soulful.