The Cure

The four winds blow your mind tonight
The stars hang low and shed their light
On the head of nails and old wives’ tails
That adorns your shaman’s cold entrails

And your plastic Jesus with sacred heart attacks
Mutant killer kittens in waterproof drowning sacks
The meat that you’re cut from won’t let you be free
The life that you live sucks the sap from the trees

You smile and you smile as they hack at your legs
Stick you with needles and drain your regrets
Smile once again in the absence of pain
As they deliver you to the street where it’s pouring with rain

One step at a time down the tarmac runway
Through the gates to the garden where the pigeons hold sway
And lifting your arms to the sky falling feathers
Proclaim yourself cured of the inclement weather

Cured of the need to question the reasons
Cured of the smile that contemplated the seasons
Cured of your doubts and your cynical ways
Free to obey what your good book says

November 2007

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