salvation
ray heinrich
a strange flu in late july
makes fevers and coughs and sore joints
seem appropriate
seem a great excuse
to not answer
what couldn't be answered anyway
to lie down
to sleep
(between coughs)
to think of what sits between
life
and everything else
and my cough syrup
is as red as communion wine
and my sacrament
is the next pill
until
the door opens
and it's you
and vanilla wafers
and bananas
and pudding
