The Chocolate Infection

Days of the ferret, a sweet fever. Someone is walking through the sun With my tongue on a leash. Say “Ahhh.” Thank goodness, It’s not diabetes or the Bolivian Rot. This morning I am a cross Between lefthandedness And pointblank rage. The sun leaks like soft ice. The infection deepens . . . My eyes dissolve In a closet of heat. I become 4,000 Yellow flowers, chirruping. O the cliché of a trek into the bowels of China. O the night that zings like a harpsichord factory! O gorgeous sun limping in the frozen dusk. O candy wrappers stacked like bricks! Snow growls on my roof. The infection deepens . . . A day on fire Placing real rabbits Where my mouth should be. I am several kinds of tigers. I am a confectionary treat. This fever fills my sleeves With pearls of honey drops. Am I too strange to bleed? I’m behind myself With a knife and fork, Revolving on a skewer. I am wild with grief As greasy children Reach deep into my fever To scoop out their revenge In double-dips . . . Come off it, kids. Next week, I’ll be raining On the iron road to Malta And perfect health, melting Like sugar in the mouth of the Orinoco.