A sick zombie waiting for a doctor’s appointment

Nobody publishes poetry anymore

and I am a no body publishing poetry

to people like you

and I am afraid to waste your time

or that you’re hoping for something from me

or worse yet is that you’re not

and that you’re sick

because I am

and you are reading this

insisting on a cure

but idleness is no salve

and you are getting worse

under my watch

and I under yours

like a sick zombie

waiting for a doctor’s appointment

and I realize why poetry is no longer published:

it is a dead art

by dying artists

that have no place

left in this

world,

so they create

nothing places like this

where you come for something

and we wait

and we watch

each other die.

*

Put your fingers

in my eyes

so I can see

how you feel

and you can touch up

my blind spots

with something

beautiful.