Words, words such as Red Cross nurses come to my rescue:
claim to transform the evil of '
soul in poetic beauty,
that they can not give love yearned
least give the fame, prestige and the fame of the poet.
The items I looked after by good nurse, administering
alphabet rhyme
and rent spacious white sheets of A4 paper to vent
the unhealthy disease of love,
otherwise repressed.
are recovering poetic!
I leave the hard work of rationality,
damaged employment.
Oh, words! Red Cross
diligent with their starched collars,
heal me?
The Red Cross, the Red Cross as
words will soothe my illness?
July 6, 2008
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