PYREXIA

 

Fever obliterates reason

as degrees on

a thermometer scale new heights.

Bedside lights

are forest fires, rainbowed with oils,

dripping from the lips of gargoyles

which grin from my bed-posts. Will I soon be dead

or will a clear head relieve my brain

and my room become a room again?

 

copyright Carol Baily, 1996

 

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