Posted in Poetry on Jul 1st, 1993 No Comments »
Seven people are watching in the waiting room
listening for the sound of something horrid
nothing but the sight of blood will calm them
touch the sick and lie of sex
Seven clammy hands rise to be counted
no one cares to watch them bleed
the sphere in hand they clench mercilessly
touch the sick and die a little
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Posted in Poetry on Jul 1st, 1993 No Comments »
push the handle
bend the head
and drink from where
tainted with rust
and warm and stale
quench the thirst
rest a moment
and for a while
ponder the swirling
lukewarm tinted
liquid that drops
touching the lips
and falling dripping
down the chin
now cool wet
quench the thirst
and drink till
the water runs clear
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