quiet distress. black coffee.

i get on these kicks
where i experiment with exposing myself
to a pretty day. i open the curtain
just a little, then stare at the ray of light
on the floor from across the room,
a burning white line.
light, like plague, is airborne,
i must be getting a little of it if i stand over here;
it must settle on my skin like dust.
look! my kidneys aren't shutting down.
i am the picture of health.
i close the curtain.
i read my newspapers.