The fungal infections that ate at these feet are slowly conceding a timely defeat. It's been a few decades since there was relief from relentless itching and persistent grief. There too is a cockroach turned up on his back, he's under a constant, unending attack by hundreds of ants coming out of a hive, removing his insides while he's still alive. His death is a mystery – what is the cause? – did he eat that poison-soaked medical gauze? – or was it just the bastard's own time to go? – because he can't speak to me I'll never know. The girls at the market, I see every day, they know I can leave this place while they must stay, they giggle and laugh with me – flirting, I think – although they're not nearly old enough to drink. These kisses from Bali, my second time 'round, were give by insect and paved-over ground, I'll be sure to keep them from getting infected and hope that for Dengue I've not been selected. While surfing this morning I sure did have fun, was shredding for hours out under the sun, to paddle back out there made me feel fantastic, my joy is expanding and buoyant, elastic.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥
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