Art: Máret Ánne Sara
Sickness
Sometimes it feels good.
Layers of fur wrap around me.
My flesh grows heavy.
There is no energy to worry.
The bones & bitterness
grow soft and disappear.
At night, a flower closes.
Inside a caterpillar wheezes
in the sweet, stuffy air.

Kim Connell is working on a novel while living in New York. (updated 1977)
