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Atypical Dyspepsia

by Max Bouillet

"What? Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost [which is] in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?"
--1 Corinthians 6:19

She has a way
of getting under my skin.

At first,
it was annoying.
I just gained weight.

My flesh thinned as I watched her
wriggle under my skin.
Brilliant bruises formed
outlining her face.

Periodically, I would
lose control of my limbs
and she would make me
eat chocolate.

Okay, maybe that was me.

She got bored and started
writing her prophecies on my flesh
I spent my days reading
inverted words in the mirror
and mused about my skin
becoming mirror dependent scripture.

Soon afterwards,
I exploded.

Just seconds in this world
and she was already cleaning up after me.

06/29/2010

Posted on 06/30/2010
Copyright © 2022 Max Bouillet

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Linda Fuller on 06/30/10 at 01:52 AM

Love it, love it, love it. Classic Bouillet.

Posted by Maria Terezia Ferencz on 06/30/10 at 08:26 AM

Not apples my dear, chocolate. How appropriate! I love it!

Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 06/30/10 at 03:47 PM

Insanely clever stuff. I especially love the style that runs through this thing.

Posted by Therese Elaine on 06/30/10 at 10:45 PM

This is slinky body-morphing gender-bending in its truest sense...you are what you eat, you become your parents, you implode from the pressure, clean-up on aisle five.

Posted by Paul Lastovica on 07/01/10 at 01:08 AM

kept a smile plastered on my face from the open to the close

Posted by Glenn Currier on 07/01/10 at 05:36 PM

What a thought! How someone getting under our skin makes us gain weight. That has so so so many possibilities for another pome. I love the idea of the pregnant mom making the fetus eat chocolate. Your range still challenges my eyes and my mind - looking for your horizon.

Posted by Gregory O'Neill on 07/01/10 at 07:50 PM

Right! How do we manage to choke it all down, let alone digest it all. It's all relational. Deal with who people are and give space to their garbage, if that's what they ofer. Keep interacting with them as if they are God. And every time you get garbage from them, give space to the garbage and go back and interact with them as if they were God. Ponderous poem. Thatnks.

Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 07/03/10 at 11:59 AM

one has not lived until one's lived with a bevy of women under one's skin. I dig women under my skin. I dig this poem under my skin. and I suppose all who get under will have to fight for territorial rights if they can't arrive upon a compromise.

Posted by Morgan D Hafele on 07/03/10 at 09:36 PM

"She got bored and started
writing her prophecies on my flesh" amazing lines!

Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 07/04/10 at 02:00 PM

With each new read, we can always expect something different and imaginative from you Max. This piece is no exception. I love the concept and how you've applied it with humor to yourself.

Posted by Charles E Minshall on 07/04/10 at 06:13 PM

Fun Max...CharMin

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