Wednesday, February 12


Mirrored walls, endless halls,
Menageries of candid cravens
Speaking, seeking sparks in the darkness.
Too entombed to be exposed.
Apothecary, why harness hope to the hopeless?
We arrive for the poison; you prescribe pain,
Corrosive nostrums peddled for a
Sigh and a sham.
Shame, isn’t it?
Trite, albeit.
Over jars of queer things, soaking in saline,
Terrariums pickling premonitions,
Tubes of fomenting fluids,
Worlds within nestled niches,
Engaging with the wee things
We sell what we don’t yet possess,
Barter with your charlatanism,
Play doctor with our disorders,
Knock knees, improvise injections, count bones.
Checkered diagnoses.
Your prognosis, asperous one?
A potent subtraction for your
Concocted collection,
The addition of an
Archaic conviction,
Pride cast into an
Check in, check up, check out.

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