Blood

Editor back-issues, poetry

The problem is my blood, they say.There’s too much of it. In other words, I have done this to myself.With their signatures I am delivered tiny pills,hundreds of them, metoprolol, valsartan,hydrochlorothia—I don’t know, untilI am no longer a man but a sheathinto which pills can be pouredbut it makes no difference. Blood begets blood.I can feel them, the cells copulating…

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