Meditations in the Room

I am in a room
in a bed.
I am here often,
but rarely is it talked about on the news.

The abled are watching,
tweeting like birds
and fighting like racoons
over spare bread and soft paper.
They do not think about their bodies often.
Automaton whirring until a fly creeps in,
that is when the machine stops.
It rarely stops.
These are the days they stop
to think about flesh and bone.
These are the days they call their mothers
over the phone.

I am in a room
in a bed.
I am here often,
but rarely is it talked about on the news.
These days, there is more to lose.

***

A quiet quarantine
in a self-isolated submarine,
deeper and deeper, in between
anxiety and apathy,
they say I’m being selfish
for madness in a time of need.

Panic, they say it’s the worst time.
All the panic before was just practice,
obsessive compulsive sadness.
I am spiralling,
but it’s a bad time.
So I swallow,
I am fine
until I am hollow.

A quiet quarantine
in a self-isolated submarine.
The world doesn’t need more sickness.
The world doesn’t need…

Artwork by Ikenaga Yasunari