Breath Deeply

I was brought up from sleep

this morning

having swallowed a stink bug.

In self-defense, it ejected its spray

of bitter bile & I was unable

to breath deeply for an hour.

The press of coffee tasted

like formaldehyde.

But eventually, my body

fought back the ancient chemical

—it is always trying to straighten me out.

I ought to be thankful for

my internal pharmacy. I am not. Something about gratitude seems dishonest

or forced, when directed at my

faculties. No, it is not just that. All sorts

of gratitude, even as a little boy

with zero axes to grind, like hiccups—

it has always gotten caught in my craw.

There is suicide in it.