Contagion

If you’s an angel,
heaven must be sick and dying.
The sky is recording 
prophecy and omens.
Plague’s coming home to roost.
Evading masks
and immunizations,
you’re forever riding
on the storm
like one of the four horsemen
ain’t you love?
Refusing to splash blood
across altar and door,
I’m keeping a loophole open
ripe for exploitation.
Yes, I too am refusing
medication.

Unearthing Meret
from sand and stone
seeking divine intervention,
this alto yearns
to become soprano.
Performing a musical 
until my voice unfurls,
knowing I don’t got
your ear no more,
I’m broadcasting
on a different frequency.

There’s no forgetting
that timeshare I’d been sold.
It’s a tiny slice of bliss
disguising networking mycelium 
invading my cerebellum
continuing to knock me
off kilter.
I am barely standing,
still paying
maintenance plus taxes.

The conductor’s drinking
at the wheel again.
I’m a literal train wreck,
a jonesing dope fiend,
it’s overtaking my personality 
when you cut me with the tip
of those switchblade wings.
I continue resisting
letting myself 
let it all go.
How diseased I am,
running a fever and damned
romanticizing you.