A New Illness

Shattered windows allow us to reflect on the storm outside. 

The metal bars are not for grasping- they are electrified. 

I am only narrowly awake. 

I wonder if that’s a real earthquake. 

Or if it’s simply me shaking while waiting for the voices to settle. 

They tell me that it’s normal to ring like a kettle. 

This place where treatment creates-

A new kind of illness that forms in our wake.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

Poem

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