—it’s the black boil on bursting, boiling ribs—
on my midleft chest, brewing bungled churns,
[tighteningmybreath], again, again, it yearns,
it begs*, “just one (just two) more (well-earned) rub(s)!”
—giving in, it’s just picking at the scabs—
first brief relief( ):the itch at once returns
as soon’s the finger’s left the welt; it burns
and gnaws...
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