Poetry. After a subtly disturbing, two- month illness of fatigue, depression, creepy psychological states, psychotic rage, and tickles of low-grade nausea, I woke up the morning after Thanksgiving, 2013, with an itchy chest and abdomen. My immediate, pre-conscious reaction: liver is hurt, dead in six months. It was impossible. There couldn't be anything wrong with my liver. Not after a lifetime shunning alcohol, drugs, and for the last few years,...
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Poetry