But I was bold, I sat in bed
and drooled from out of my drooling head
until another saw what I was doing
And soon it came they spoke my name
I heard it twice and it stayed the same,
my lungs were coming undone from their gluing
Iris rise up and take up your bed!
Pick up your soiled pillow! Lift your lolling head!
“A daughter's place is in the bed,
in shutting up or playing dead.
There's no more I can do by definition.”
I tried to rise and struck the floor
– and soon became a spastic whore –
I laid there in my fluids, weakly grasping.
It was only then that I knew when
I first had given up and then
I understood the scrape behind my raspings.
I settled down, was covered up
And don't think I'll be getting up
Still I try to clot the atmosphere with laughter.
But nothing but a stale trickle
of breath as sodden as a pickle
pushes, pulsing through my teeth to ever after.
Iris rise up and take up your bed!
Pick up your soiled pillow! Lift your lolling head!
A daughter's place is in the bed,
in shutting up or playing dead.
There's no more I can do by definition.
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