Harrow - Poem by Morgan Michaels
Because Love harrows me painfully
(noisome and disabling condition)
I have sought the aid of a physician
banking on a certain remedy;
by whose prescribing, daily, like a shaman
(who drapes himself with snakes- though harmlessly)
I've swallowed vials of Love's bitter venom
thus to provoke a fine immunity.
There are times when I doubt this fluent savant
returning over his vast desk my stare,
eyes flecked with yellow, gold and green:
times when he seems more fluent than savant:
I ask him, can this really be the cure?
But he smiles and nods so gentle, so serene
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