Burgees Curative

I am deteriorating, a corpse with organs, viscera decomposition, an inchoate otherness that creates its own misfortune and drudgery. Skin loosening around waging and neckline, halter-skin, made from cow’s hide and smear, clove oil, Burgees curative; waiflike: sherbet lollopped into outstretched bowls, shaky-hand and jimmy-legs and a woman with a rebus of my six-year analysis on the primal screen of her forehead. Tomorrow is another day: repetition ad nausea.