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Describe the Symptoms:
Not black, but blood orange.
He takes a breath, and tells you
to stay in bed.
A million bruised calves—
the dull pains not like
the time your dad said
your legs were pudgy,
but rather,
like months of staring
at an old man dining alone.
This emptiness is a hole you dug with an enemy
as fans looked on.
And things above stayed good
while you tossed dirt.
How To Treat Said Symptoms:
Don’t read anything.
The pamphlets haven’t caught up
with the condition, haven’t taken
him to lunch in awhile.
There are days when he will be riotous.
Don’t breathe deeply.
No matter what they tell you.
Just
cut off your hair, change your dirty clothes,
accentuate your syllables.
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