Headache Poem by Jaime Guerra
Headache
A tiresome effort to reconstruct life
out of debris and meat and pure nerve
out of unstimulating circumstances.
We are meant to feel weak, dear body
frankness is our only weapon
straightforwardness our only truth.
With this in mind, and nothing more
Would you help me walk away?
It tastes good to me. It tastes good to me. It tastes good to me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/30/2024 3:44:17 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Very good poem. Sincerely, Mary