Sick Dreams by Kurt Van Ristell

CW: Illness

Fever. Set the bed on

Fire. Synaptic

Spasms. A vast, crumpled range—

Impossible to fathom—

Mountains of confused: somehow, sleepful bliss. Pills hiss.

Fizz in my liquid

Abdomen. Release numbness; raw liver doles morphine as

My throat whistles like a chimney-

Sweep. Cough baby green tissue-peaks.

Mucus. Rattle. Baking wet bedsheets. And

My last, lucid thought

As I stand contrapposto, leer over the sublime, lipped

Sinkhole. A wrap of foul skin which aches to even dream of

Touching. My mind dances on dull knives. Try to drift but

Dcmofisort cosnmues all room for roiatanl touhhgt, and I wnoedr why the wrlod lkoos the smae, but mkaes no snese aymnroe.

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Kurt Van Ristell is a poet and author living in South London. He works in education, which is a storyteller’s boon. He writes around his life experiences, which reflect his London upbringing filtered through his mixed-race background. His poems have appeared/are forthcoming in Bandit Fiction and with Shayel Magazine.