Sickness of the Inside
I wandered through the walls alone
Where cut stones curse and split stumps groan.
The Quacks couldn't cure me.
I was an anomaly.
A case lost in baggage by the tyrants of science
A link that isn't missink from The Giant Appliance.
They probed me with tests
Disrobed me with shoes
They spared me no rest,
Spoonfed me new issues.
And finding no funding to type a new tick-list,
They could only conclude that I was without sickness.
Under purple skies that promised high precipitation,
Owning nout but a gown and a frowning prescription,
Discharged and dishevelled to the drooling city
Diagnosed with statistical disproportionality.
'The patient is advised, avoid dog hair and doctors'.
I walked home in the rain, under the eyes of helicopters.
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