Fever

Three days of flu
and your mind has betrayed you,
feverish and mocking,
a temporary madness

where time has no reign
and the easiest task
evaporates like morning fog, where
there is no focus, only

a kaleidoscope of thoughts
changing color and mood
like psychedelic snowflakes dancing in the wind
ripe with lust and tears and frenetic failure

until,
at last
sleep, blissful sleep,
claims you.

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What can I say? I’ve been fighting the flu the past few days and a poet works with what he’s got.

The picture is the last of three silhouette photographs I took a couple of weeks ago in the midst of snow and fog. You can click on it for a larger version.

Tom