It’s under my skin, spread out like a thin layerof drying pus between the transverse ligaments of my forearmsthe ropey muscles that pit in the backs of my kneesthe serrated blade of spine, the muscles that knot between my fluttering scapula.
All around me I see evidence that life will go on long afterthis cancer sets in, sends thin hair-filaments of death like optical tubingfetid piping through my body, pumping death into everypulsing, flapping organ and gasping orifice
there’s no need to drop bombs or send plagues,notwhere I’m concerned—the apocalypseis already happening to me.

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Illustration: Vishnu Prasad © All Rights Reserved