I have finished combat with my body.
it is sunset.
I will lay down the medicine,
the pills, the needle,
the strained walk through dripping hemlocks.
I will not take count of myself,
my retreats, my advances.
This is a settled fact at dusk;
my mind cannot recreate
my body’s pain:
as words stain memory’s canvas
the grievous body leaves
and leaves
faint traces of itself.
I will not take count of my words,
my words corrode.
I will not consider sinew,
blood or bone.
I will lie down in the furrow of my belly
and sleep,
dark and cold, but sleep.
I need it so bad to read poetry and let it out. I’m batteling with insurance idiots. Its far fron.m easy specially when I barely get a good sleep. I have become the shadow and pain has captured the rrest
Thx for heartfelt poems. I wish I was in estates and not canada.