The sheets-

white waves coming

to shore filled with confusion,

.

barred windows , kind enough

to let sunlight in

while red pills knock at the door.

.

They really don't listen

to my cries and  contortions,

now in the third winter frame.

.

The Doctors, dry and droll

in their tweed suits, glasses

thick and implying,

.

are detached and sure

of the answers, void of love.

I suppose it pays to play

.

it cool when conducting

autopsies day after day

on the living dead.

.

A little empathy might push them

over the edge, into my world

spinning next door.

08/04/2005

Posted on 08/04/2005
Copyright © 2026 Jane E Pearce