The Sorrows of Young Hippocrates

By | 1 November 2012

Twice daily I talk with
synaptic clefts, with or after meals
we take long walks
in the blister-pack twilight

In my unipolar moments
I write the lovely darkness
lend me your pistols for
the journey, I am about to unmake

How do you feel in yourself about
bathroom scales
and guilty emissions when
all pleasure fails

Maniacal, melancholic and epileptic
are the affections of spring
we must purge them
freely
downward

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