Thursday, 14 November 2013



My boss has an anxiety disorder.
And he's a carrier,
passing it on to unsuspecting victims.
When he's in the room people puff up
with frantic thoughts
like purple blowfish
warning off enemies.

My other boss left.
He was infected.
Was paid 200 G's to scram.
Now he day trades:
up goes one-sell;
down goes one-buy.
Anxiety breeding in him
like termites in Georgia;
too late for exterminators.

And now I have shingles;
a snake welt
up the back of my skull
and down over my left eye.
Angry and ugly.
It seems we're a trinity of suffering.
And we have blamed each other,
and like countries at war we will
end up together in the dirt.

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