Day 17 – Sick Day

There is nothing that a doctor
could find wrong with me-

so I cannot get a note.
But I’m staying home
anyway.

I’ve got a fever of the mind
I can’t prove,
yet I feel

heavy,
collapsed from the inside,
tense
from holding steady
too long.

There is a seed of grief
I have to tend to
before it grows big,

a sadness which wonders
at all the scuttling,
all the getting by.

“Am I getting lost?”

I know this road too well,
I know the cost,
I know the cure,

and today I’m calling out
to fix myself.

Day 7 – Sick

You are rubber and I am glue
Nothing I throw will ever stick to you
And karma’s never been my friend
So it comes right back to me again

I said you should lower your firewall
‘cause I am not a virus.

But I keep throwing whatever I can
Any nonsense that finds its way into my hands
And wondering why, unquestionably
It’s all returned, addressed to me

I think you’d better strengthen your firewall
‘cause maybe I am a virus.

And I don’t know, I could be wrong
I might’ve been that way all along
And weren’t you right to always be ducking
Anything that I was chucking
Weren’t you smart to always defend
Against all those germy missiles I’d send

Well now my throwing arm’s tired
And the fever
And the fever
Is all mine