on ward thirty two
needle in my savaged arm
watch a bruise blossom
how the rain falls now
poems for the soul that cries
every waking hour
this is infusion
my arm is a-lure-ing and
meds put me to sleep
taste the bitter pill
feel the clammy summer air
give up / write haiku
air like coffee grounds
a mind full of similes
and disinfectant
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