written while reading infinite jest in a noisy hospital ward

there’s something …about
sitting in a full room hungry

(no one will ever know) …about your this
personal sensation
(not really)
…this pathetic condition

masked through learned apathy
and a miserably inadequate smile

no one will ever know
(or care) about
the turmoil of You’re your
your stomach
(not really)
nor of much more

there and here
(there and here) you sit
hoping against hope
that it doesn’t
young man rumble

that while you stir
(in your chair
physical reflecting much more)
it doesn’t stir
like you (silly young you)
and give you away

for what you are