My lungs ache and my mind…wish I were made from iron, like the man in the comics.
I choke upon words, like blood from aching lungs
And spit out ideas with the zeal of infection.
Staining paper with the crimson curse of poetry
I write on wards
Before the judicial bore and glory of affirmation
In the public domain
I wear only cellophane
And a name
Without a face.