Infected Poem by Patti Masterman
Infected
Rating: ★5.0
Why be afraid of a knife in a word,
A blade in a vowel, or serrated syllables;
Why not admit that to live is absurd-
Or that though some live, some are barely able?
When whispered projectiles are portents of doom-
A glint of the eye, an upturned inflection-
And a thousand stings can live in one room;
If death is the end, life is the infection.
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5/8/2024 3:16:54 PM # 1.0.0.1119
