second bout

every exhalation
crackles with congestion
a consistency of syrup
laden shallow breaths
and i cannot fall deeply
enough to find dream
constantly waking
before my brain can
process it is asleep
dipping my cerebral cortex
into the shallow end of
unfulfilled desires
just enough to taint
the long stretches where
my heart hammers against
the slate gray sheets
leaving concentric circles
floating in the air
my lungs cannot process
a second bout of covid
the first an excursion into
the darkest depressions
as the virus coiled tightly
an anaconda around my bipolar
blotting out the light
this new variant worming
its way into the control
center in my flailing mind
pulling panicked attacks
in a deflection of dream

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