Word Cure

I bend at the waist,
To the qualified surgeon who thinks
About a cleansing from deep within the ear.
There is a solvent for the eyes.
The words are coated in wispy strain by
A smooth layer of sun-smoke.
I can breathe it in from the nose
And catch with my open mouth,
An herbal sediment test for baking fresh goods
Right from the wash-house of a brilliant mind.
This is how a life is saved.
Not merely with a man made medicine.
It is a curing sage,
A recollection of the things we now must know.
We were made to overcome the body.
We were made to twist the soul into a new shape
One which is able to
make a clean break whenever it becomes time.
I urge you with my heart,
Mind not only the curving wave of your favorite music
But also the lyrics which provide good shade.
Mind not only the mold made by the minister,
Mind not only the foaming, angry mouth.
Take not one bit of it at its face value,
Stare into its reddening eyes.
There is always something deeper.
Something heavier.
Something bare assed and worn thin.
Something smiling back.
Something hinted about.
Something to settle.
Something angled.
Something more.

Word Cure × ajthewriter

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