A recent and unexpected run-in with a deadly infection lead to writing this in the days just after being discharged from hospital when everything still felt an absolute mess. The phenomena written about below—‘the flavour’—is a consequence of too much bacteria being in the stomach. No one at the hospital told me to expect it and likewise can be said for the known impact of the virus in question to a person’s state of mind. Combined with the previous week of surgeons looking at me doubtfully . . . The good news is it does eventually go, but for a while felt here to stay. 

With thanks to The Center for Disease Control’s Public Health Image Library (US) for use of the header image, described as: Microscopic Shot Of A Virus (licensing). 

Can’t apologise for what I said
Not sorry if you don’t think it seemly
My dying without dignity
But the World’s a different place now
The flavour of that thing
Bloody and dark
Weird taste lingering
Same nasty taint
Riding on the air
In the saddle of every smell
Like an executioner
Watching, stalking, waiting
For the slightest wrong move
To try strike again
Is that true . . . ?
Does it work like that?
I don’t know, but:
The toolbar is smaller;
Font harder to read
This heavy fog
Makes it impossible to see
Vice-like to think
Inside of head
Thick like a tree
I spy
With my mind’s eye
I spy . . .
Something that doesn’t like
To be called The *.**** Kid
I spy where I can
Can only spy in the can
Mirror in the bathroom
In which resides the
Mortified occupant
Of a stupefied castle

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