© ArtToday. All rights reserved.
The Drugged Hoods
The drugged hoods you dance with as gravity relaxes never asked my permission. They sway the ballroom so you know only the low moan of the sea, and flap their dusty wings and scratch their viol strings each time I raise my voice to keep you from going faster into slow motion. Water fills your ears. Over the pure music the nurse fights with a machine that breathes for you, I call you home from the woods for dinner and a bath, while the sick angels rejoice when a child cannot hear a fathers plea.