Malak Mattar, Untitled (detail), 2024, charcoal on paper
Sickness
Sometimes it feels good.
Layers of fur wrap around me.
My flesh grows heavy.
There is no energy to worry.
The bones & bitterness
grow soft and disappear.
At night, a flower closes.
Inside a caterpillar wheezes
in the sweet, stuffy air.
Published:

Kim Connell
Kim Connell is working on a novel while living in New York. (updated 1977)
Related Articles
When the Screaming Ceases
Poetry by Kim Connell
“I live out my life in the widening coils”
Poetry by Rainer Maria Rilke • Translated from the German by David Keplinger
A Book
Poetry by Humberto Ak'abal • Translated from the Spanish by Michael Bazzett