SICK

Written by: Victoria Anderson-Throop



                                                 SICK

                             Aromas lose their piquant charm
                      Another double door,  Another vapid hall

                                      No dazzling puzzles to disarm
                                                      --- no witty repartee
                                   Nothing to look forward to
                                     But another dance of pain

                                     Another vacuous doctor handshake--
                                               clinic bred and born
                                      eyes that hesitate to meet my gaze
                                        whirlwinds grab particles of sound and sight from cyber space
                                         twirling and creating subhuman characters without hard edges
                                        --capture each tintinabulation and bouncing glance--

                                    Hope spirals down the sterile drain

                                  Victoria Anderson-Throop  2013©