A whirlwind,
a time-warp,
a delicate disease
that wraps itself
around your airways
and fastens its way on
in.
It's a frailness,
a lull,
a settling, softness,
like the sound of the
cars that drive by.
All is
a casual, a galling,
translucent
truth;
Age and decay,
and the breaking
down of cells, and the fracturing
of self and the flimsy
rationale.

e.campagna