MS

And my nerves
Are like useless hands
At the edge of an
Argument.

My foot had a fight
With a brown brogue
And lost,
And it pays for its defeat
With nakedness.

I carry a jaundiced bag
On my hip,
Like an oversized yellow blister,
And I empty it
With a tremored hand
Against the cistern.

Half of my face
Went numb and
I dumbly
Stared into the bathroom mirror,
Astounded that I
Could still smile.

My most meaningful relationship
Is with laxatives!
I romanticise my gut,
Where the flora lives,
Because you have to
Love your body,
Somehow –

Don’t you?

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