i am decrepit, diseased, unable

i know i'm supposed to be withering beautifully,
writing poetry in bed,
watching the seasons change out the window.
instead i've been watching a fly on the wall for two hours.
it finally notices me, as well.
with deliberation, it lands in my eye.
see if i care. i'm not using it.

amazingly

my doktor and his lackeys can patch me with animal parts
and keep this tissue paper body barely functioning,
but 9/10 whenever i see him,
he says "i don't know. keep taking the meds.
see you in eight weeks."

~

it takes
my three most intimate servants, two nurses,
and a handful of the handsome muscleboys
to help me stand sometimes.
makes me nervous,
the way they swarm like insects,
and yet, every day,
"we're understaffed,
we need more talent,
it wouldn't be hard
to give clearance
to a downstairs footman."
i only wanted one Royce.

now i have two Royces, a Ruth,
nurses Monday through Friday,
three groomers, a hoofman,
six hall boys, eight footmen, 
attendants for my elevators,
attendants for my baths,
attendants for my wardrobe,
someone watches me while i nap.
soldiers lining every wall,
like antique suits of armor,
and it seems every damn day,
my office needs a carpenter.
my fiduciary supports this idea,
"It's not like we pay for labor,"
trust me, we'll pay,
everybody needs a favor.

~

(i am so sorry that almost rhymed.)

~

i can swallow coffee,
whiskey, cough syrup,
apple juice, pond scum, pig blood,
milk, sometimes all at once. 
but i will choke on water.
get that glass away from me.
you're disgusting. i'm gonna yark.

FLATFACED HORSE STEALS FOWL, LEAVES FARMERS BAFFLED

let me eat my eggs in peace.
i know, the way i drag my broken ankles
behind me is startling. take that up with my physician.
the broken door on your chicken coop??
excuse me, that's MINE
and so is THE HOUSE YOU LIVE IN,
and so is YOU
...so... is... you...
boohoo, fix the damn door tomorrow. 
this is my yolk on my chin.
fuck you, fuck you,
i'm taking this bird.
she has soulful eyes.
goodbye!
so go to the authorities,
waste your fucking time.
tell that kid journalist,
publish another hysteria piece
whatever you call me
Raccoon Man one week,
Goat Thing the next,
Carcosa's own FOG BEAST...

Goodbye! Goodbye!