Tuesday 22 July 2014


The attacking poison would pay dearly. 
She activated her immune response via
subtle movements, CNS defined. 

The battlefield she oversaw,
 expanded over time.

The poison wept in amber waves of  
venom tears, for hours (felt like years). 

For fallen was to be its fate. 
And stained, the back, with civil war. 
Her flesh inscribed and sore.

The platelet ranks advanced some more. 
Expounding all the while, the triumphant cries of war. 
She counted blood cells to her sleep, 
to battle, single file.

The morning came all fog and wet,
 in sheets white where she lay. 
She felt dissension in the ranks, 
cerebral moored in clay.

The immune victorious had taken ground,
 far beyond her reach. 
She could not stop the growing fervor
now burning up her breast. 
Far beyond good and evil, 
comme Nietzsche.

She wrapped her all in white flag sheets,
 to call off her directive.
In streaks red across the spine and limbs, 

her system, unselective. 

The overcompensate immune, 
in hanging heat of noon.

She had to rise above the madness, 
so summoned the divine.
Her salve was god, prayer and rest. 
And irrigation, calamine. 

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