Comfrey. Cilantro. Parsley.
Turning the bathtub into an anemic swamp.
Sweetgrass and sage smoke throughout the building
Neighbors long resigned to sacred smoke pushing away
their beloved cigarette stenches.
I am invulnerable to groupthink in my quest to heal.
Everything is medicine when you are an nth of what you once were.
It’s a drag getting old before your time.
But then, it must be your time, yeah?
But while I’m here I must fight it.
I study and experiment all methods never suggested or understood by any of the white coats and educated arrogants that poke, prod and drug me as their professions demand.
Submerged in my murky makeshift temple
built inside sheetrock walls meeting always at 90 degrees
I sing to each level along my broken spinal cord
Calling to water’s healing caress
Imagine all the damage smoothed
all myelin restored
Each level success when perfect tuning is sustained
A few hours of relief
A vision of hope:
This is temporary
As long as I sing clear
into the multiverse.