i always knew
i was just your
soft place to fall
and someday
with wounds healed
you’d walk away
from it all
but the broken
things you left lying
were probably overkill
your collateral
damage
dancing
on the end
of that last call
and you didn’t know
that i knew i was
the doctor
and the medicine
that fixed you
was not my love
but your
poisonous
heart
purging
its yellow puss
all over my
clean white
intentions
i gladly left them
lying around
a sterile field
to soil
with the infection
you were nursing
along
waiting for
a soft
place to fall
and i put on my
paint and feathers
and played the
part to the “t”
a shaman all shaking
shakes free
and the placebo
draws the humors
from the depths of
her sea
and she was
not laughing
the slow
bleeding
and weak
and the patient
begins to shriek
and that’s when
you know its working
when they lose
the control
and it looks like
magic
and then it’s all over
and the shaman
goes home
and puts on a movie
another days work
down
the tube
and as he fades off,
one whisper,
“fuck you.”
but the only one
left is the moon
who smiles
and whistles
a tune...
p.s.
the shaman was me
the woman
was
you
and, oh yeah, the moon
was definitely the moon
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