cool the singe
            cannot, I body diseased, furtive
hide beneath loose clothing.
            I must lose myself in my work
to my work, but I cannot, it eats
     away, to wake in daze catatonic,
each morning & remember
                        no sleep, just a
            dizzy fall into darkness, &
drugged dreams. For—
            —I have no
            room of my own, just
temporary shelter in a house
            run by 3-legged cats that
  can’t chase all the brown,
bloodfeeding bugs crawling in my
own bed, yes
            wanting for the flesh,
breakfastlunch&dinner in three
bites.              
            making a parasitic
living— lorryia formosa’s marks
            burn less— “scabies,”
      sailor-speak      little red dots
            flame at night on skin.
mother keeps her eyes covered.

in 1917, life cost 25 cents if you
            were poor.
today the same, replaceable snake
swallows           little girls in red
      swimswuits  dip bitten toes into
soiled swimwater as a sparrow rubs
against the ground, cleansed by dirt.