The last time I threw up
my hair was still long enough
to knot along my stomach.
Clinging to the state phone
with clammy tear-stains stumbling
over buttons as waves lurched
up & down my esophagus.
Padding back & forth over
linoleum tiles too old to call
out yet too young to breathe when
Vulturnus turned hot seas in my gut.
Too young to know the blessing
of gagging out disease.
& when the storms turn & tear
at my stomach lining I now wish
to regurgitate up my throat.
Cram peroxide & mentos & anti
depressants to retch up the dinner
I ate last week when my rotting
reprieved for a second to hunger.
Spit into the kitchen sink anything
other than salvia interlaced
with artificial bubblegum as a
sorry attempt to curb nausea.
Carve out the virus from my brain stem
& drag it out my throat.
