hands, smears cards
and asks what I see:
Forgotten veins seep
sludge through streets,
substance to the power lines,
purpose to dead trees,
dribbling acid through slain seas.
The clouds pitted with rain. The sky
dotted with lies, ink running
red. In adolescence, the shunned space
its birth cries so recent in ear; wails of despair at being brought to a world where
Hippocrates drank I,P,A.
Hypocrites are brewed in wind owed condensation;
pockmarks my escape.
Posted on walls, pasted in soil
of previous patients lost. Weary carpet
breathes with them, seethes
with me, waiting for the room to die.
Eyes belie, deny the cries of monochro matic inkblots, and
this heavy chambers’ hollow sound.
He echoes: What do I see? Power lines seep sludge through forgotten streets…