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Sickness

by Kim Connell

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 recuperating in the woods of upper New York State. (Fall 1974)


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