when you stop moving
do your damnedest not to attract
dust bunnies,
what you need is
an army of grimy jackrabbits
to kick you out
of your comfort zone
if you ever stop feeling hungry
what you need to do is convince a
sixty-inch parasite
to invade your
insides imperial england-style
and teach you
what it really means to crave
when you start to doze
you need your life to be viciously
shaken awake—
the way you’d
shake a lover with a head injury
who is slipping out of consciousness
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