Friday, March 11, 2016

A body is insufficient

the doctor looked into the throat and said, nope.
i see no words, no healings, no poultices.

the shrink tried to grow the soul upon the couch
so that the patient might see the wounds from up above.

aha, he wrote, i see phantasmal dreams, but no healings;
only strange and grave maladjustments.

despondent the patient loped to the woods, 
opened her empty hands to besiege the silent god (old trope), 

and there the bird lit with no words, only a perfect fit 
and a mutual hunger for the body's absolution.