VERSE | PIN PRICKS AND PAPER CUTS

There’s a shop down the street
Where you can buy consciences
Gentle pin pricks around your heart
For when you want to sense something
For when you want to feel
A tiny paper cut, a delicate weal
Most times you buy a numbness though
Cloaked in velvety greys and yellows
They’re tailor-made to fit around
Your never-racing, constant heart
And your ever-racing, chasing mind
The greater you can muster
Put down on the counter
The finer the swaddle
To enshroud your qualms
To feel the vaguest of twinges
Of right and wrong
When to see and when to be
Sightless, without sound
Unconscious, uncurious, asleep
In the thick, creamy fabric
Numbingly, comfortingly bound
Gut-driven compass buried deep
Six feet below the ice and the snow
The tsunamis, the floods and the hurricanes
The droughts, the disease, the misery
Interred in darkness, entombed underground
In the meantime there’s a shop that sells
Custom-built, free-of-guilt scruples in town.

2 thoughts on “VERSE | PIN PRICKS AND PAPER CUTS

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