Fever Poem by Michael Cayley

Michael Cayley

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Fever

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The doctor measures millilitres into his syringe,
puts all your lights out and packs his bag.
'Should be all right, ' he says at the door,
and 'God bless.'

Like angels
you feel no appetite now.
Your closed eyes are quiescent as fossils.

Michael Cayley

Thursday, June 30, 2011

poem poems fever

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Poems By Michael Cayley

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Michael Cayley

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