why bother glittering? a story.

i. diseases are far more attractive than anyone cares to admit.

ii. gleaming surfaces are quite possibly my worst enemies,
but it isn’t fair to blame everything on them
when my eyes can turn in on themselves and reflect just as clearly.

sometimes i tell myself i am simply looking through the wrong end of the lens,

iii. but millions of other lenses, other lookers cannot be wrong.

(can they?)

iv. the most dangerous thing about disease is not catching it.
it’s being caught by it– its slow caressing fingers grazing your skin
just enough to send shivers by airmail over the landscape of your body,
the envelope fluttering like a fucked up bird over rises and into dips
of hips and bone, occasionally cutting
the soft song of flapping paper whispering soothing words to you
as the envelop unravels and spreads its blind mantle over you.

v. once you close your eyes in sheer joy at the simple comfort of its cover–
once you allow yourself to think well, i am quite tired after all,
i really should sleep
— you are lost.

vi. note: not all disease is marked by lesions on the skin,
or hair loss,
or foaming mouths.

vii. loose jeans are not always a harbinger
of sudden interest in gangsta rap and thug life.

viii. i can never resist those freaks on the silver screen.
my laughter at their wrongness disguises a cry of longing
to be even less correct.

ix. when this disease at last presses its warm fingers to my lips
and says, shh. i am coming to take you where you belong,

i will not put up a struggle. i will go gladly–
when i learn to dance i will perform arias with my body
in the morning sun.
i will praise sickness;
i will demonize denizens of the land above where flushed cheeks
and bright smiles are tantamount to godliness.
i will follow disease–

i will go willingly into its arms to sleep sound and unsafe–

x. and that is all the warning that i am giving to those who need to know.

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