I am ensemble—
some bodies’ semblance,
seeming solid,
blanching porous—
a Lego Frankenstein’s
made of germ blocks.

I am phlegm’s
a more good gathering
spot infected in time
and time’s past before
God ran out of cheeks to turn.

I cough up crude
nicknames of terrestrial
endearment and convenience.
My head, shoulders,
throat and lungs,
throat and lungs, throat and lungs;
head, shoulders, throat and lungs,
spew out the spies and tongue
I am the thrill of Mormon’s defeat,
the agony of Satan’s victory.


Poet’s Notes:

The above poem started as notes scribbled in bed before dawn. After sunup, I opened my laptop and went to work. Soon began worrying my original notes were just passing thoughts I should not have taken seriously, let alone publish. Then I remembered I am a poet-blogger and have a job to do. I invite you not to think too hard about the above piece. But if you do think too hard about it, comments are welcome.

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