SICK

I’m sick
It is a tightness in my stomach and my throat
A slight persistent tick of my left eye

I’ll die
Lonely and Alone and full of shit
In a distant land; dirty hospital; out of the way

It’s May
But, flowers? None. A land Dry and homely
Trees pale, brown, broken, and thin

In Berlin,
The Spree is dry and cut.
Fires running amok over the seas.

It’s Capri.
Shema? No more. Swollowed Underwater.
Wires everywhere, but where’s the fauna?