One day
I started practicing medicine As if I were writing a poem. Deliberately empty I was listening to the soft, small voice asking to find a way home in this vast, hard world. Listening to the story, revealing. as if eery syllable was the last breath of God I forgot I was human and brought forth what could and couldn't be me. For what really are symptoms and poems but reasons to become silent and speak what can't be said with words.
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PoetryBecause all that science just gets old after a while. Archives
October 2019
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