Asthma and/or Pilates
BY GRAHAM EVERHART I APRIL 23, 2009

Hushed conversations
happen, kitchen-side,
about the merits or
lack there of of of of of of
the messed up eyes
of of the saturated
duckling.

He cannot help it,
or himself...maybe
he's born with it...
maybe his baby dreams
have fractured his sense
of of of of of of of
self worth and
semi-satisfaction.

His demigod status
is on the wane...the
rockstar stature he
harbored in his veins
had held on as long
as it could. Now, he
only sleeps on his side,
otherwise his breath
comes in heaves and
the chills that once
stemmed from his gaze
now grace his vertebrae.

The transition was such
that none but the most
highly trained specialists
could notice the subtle
differences. The color
of of of his cheeks, while
perpetually pallid,
drained languidly, leaving
him pale, pasty, pained.

These were not his
finest years. He would not
tell his grandchildren.

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