is the diagnosis that dings even your casual
observation that things may have finally gone
to shit. Your joke that mouse droppings in the garage
will carry contagion the moment antibiotics stop
working will be met with reassurance and no one
will laugh. Instead, the hand held out to steady you
will hold a Xanax and a refutation, as if these are not
manifestations of your nightmare world in real time.
The scorpion that lifts its head against the baseboard
in your kitchen, lit by ultraviolet and the mockery
of prescience will reveal absolutely nothing
you can prove.
