You Are a Disease

grooveamatic

You are a disease to me
(a pestilence, a shadow)
whose stink stays in my clothes
like clove smoke
or horseradish:

You are what death would be
if we died and kept living.

You are some sort of smell
(a gel, a moving thing)
which slimes through my soul
like a worm
through a brown apple:

You are what life would be
if sickness was grand.


And I cannot rid my mind of the frown that you wear
as though Gabriel’s horn was too loud in your ear.

chadwick

yeah that stinks bad.
good stuff groovy