Sunday, March 09, 2014


She has a machine that heals with sound.
I vibrate from brainpan to tailbone to feet's arches on the linoleum.
And it takes me to hospitals in a gentle future,
rooms where leaves rattle harmlessly against the glass walls
and the furniture rustles like a living creature.
Error is elsewhere, in the mansion of fading lovers.
My head comes off like a concrete pebble.

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