I’m sick and the flies keep landing on me. Their feet are the most annoying whispers. Like a table in another room that you are pretty sure keeps saying your name. The only thing I like about having a body right now is my soft warm fat. The fleshy medicine of my hips. The tender heating pad of my belly. My bones are achy swatters. This skull is a bird feeder. I can see my whole neighborhood through my window. No one ever stops at the stop sign. Electricity never ages.