Image is of an actual mustard gas blend product available on the light web right this minute.

*****

This poet’s digestive system and singing voice have both been gravely compromised by her years-long, targeted predation.

Deliberate sleep deprivation and constant hatred keep her circadian rhythms and (tachycardic) heartbeat on permanent alarm, along with a host of other unpleasant symptoms.

Inability to leave her van unsupervised results in inability to exercise healthfully.

Her budget has been drained to nothing over and over by repairs after both vandalism and the works of network-recruited mechanics, and after discarding and replacement of tainted food and drink, as well as of all manner of products proven to be defective on purchase from counter and stock clerks notified of her approach.

Lack of normal socialization makes it harder and harder to conduct it at all effectively.

After her near death experience of intestinal failure due to months spent on the sidewalk, the poet will never be able to make love again ~ never again know the comfort, companionship, protection and support of a loving mate and partner.

… But, so far, her medicinal practices have at least kept her lungs ~ even through constant exposure to things like hexavalent chromium, acrylonitrile, COVID, concentrated insecticides and something smelling like burning plastic or rubber ~ sufficiently intact to bring spontaneous compliments from the last half dozen providers who have examined her.

We can forget that now, though.

Whatever this poet is being dusted with now sticks to the lungs worse than hairspray. The damage can be felt immediately and clearly as long term.

But that’s okay, right?

After so many years it would be completely foolish to imagine there’s any actual official concern about that…

No, indeed. Quite the opposite.

We’ll look the other way, Agent Sean Powers.

While you shut that poet down for us.

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