everyone is unwell
and all your ideas about everything
shrink to the size of a sweat
perspiration without effort
you fool
and when you are well again, relatively speaking
you will forget
because you must
and the apathy that attended you
trying to make friends
will be so cruelly cast off
as you run about
pretending you’re on the side of activity
and you run out of pyjamas
and everything is saturated
and weary
.
no magic
your underwear is soaking
your sheets are hot
disenchanted sex with sickness demon
dream: working in Elon Musk’s offices
and you can’t find your art shoes
and there’s a pair that look like them but someone has put in trainer laces
and you go to lost property and a man says he’ll look out for them
and everyone, man, woman, is working on these little white, too-small computers
and you laugh out loud when you wake up because this is as far as your unconscious has gotten in imagining what it it is like to “code”
and you watch the sort of show you are supposed to watch when you are ill
and you wonder if the fantasy that people watch things all in a row is actually not true
it is so boring
show watches you
still not answering your email
in any mood
and are we sick because we did not get sick enough
or because we did
and can you imagine being the person who caused this
what a strange feeling
and everyone knows now
who believes in sides and who does not
and that there is a way of doing things, despite everything
not even “a right way” but a human way, error-strewn
and you don’t even say what it is I got wrong
only that I am wrong
and that is how I know that you are lost
and the people that we were and who you were
gone forever
I could be angry, as we all can be
(patience is a virtue)
but it passes in a short block
.
sadness is an object