Sick

This morning
I felt
Like a giant tuft of
Grey cotton candy,
All fuzzy around the edges,
Lying there in the puddle
Of covers,
Drooping over the edges
Of the steel and down sidewalk,
Shoved stubbornly on a
Headache stick,
Forgotten by the children
Of sanity,
Waiting for the glare of
The street-sweeper sun
And the crying of a clock--

Ready to be eaten by gravity.