Maybe it’s Emphysema, a shiny black jewel of phlegm br humming like a clump of bees in my chest. br Perhaps a tumor crawling in the crook of my armpit, br a blood clot opening like a tiny red flower in my brain. br br Maybe it’s too early to show up on an X-ray, br a kind of cancerous seed planted deep br in my intestine, something like Leukemia’s ghost br haunting my hollow bones. br br The doctor says I’m fine. br br But even now, deep in the dark holes of my eyes br I can feel the cataracts spinning their silver webs. br Even now, in the bony cage of my lungs br I can feel the heart attack’s prologue, br the opening words of some prolific pain br like a bird stabbing its incessant beak br into the ripe red meat of my heart.