mass

we are full of asbestos
our lungs are dry
we rasp
we feel
the hairs on our arms
turn
inwards
scratching underneath
the surface
the itch

i have become fascinated
with morgellons
the wealthy white women
clawing at their flesh
the sore
the feel of bugs beneath
the skin
alien matter
is it disease
is it delusion
“a controversial disorder”
“real delusions of an unreal
disease”

the women we burnt
and drowned
and encased
in metal masks
with special spikes to hold
down
the tongue

the women we barred
dosed
pulsed with volts
in their temples
noses stuffed with tubing
to hold
down
the tongue

the women who fainted
all at once
the falling

the women who feed
on their own
muscle memories

the dancing plague
“a natural disease”
“hot blood”
ecstatic agony
bleeding soles
a band accompanying
a slow dance with death
a town going
down

laughter
laughter
laughter
from a thousand chests
howls
cackles
tongues loose
lungs torn by gasps
gasps
attacks of crying
a rash
gurgling hot blood
the roar
the surge
the convulsion
the terrible mirth
is it a shriek
is it a scream

the itch
the itch

i am very aware
of my tongue

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