The Medical Misunderstanding
By Jack Joseph Smith
From the days titat wept the child
The child will not weep the days
The morning misgivings of silk sheets against dreamed sands
Does not damage the ash on the ancient winds
That transformed knowledge into hands
Now a new wild man sulke through the skies for disease
And though his search can not be bothered by paranoia
He is sold as a locust
By billions of manufactured antennae
Tranemiting a showcase of pathological stars
A ghost in the flesh across the grave with tools
He has taken his sur name off a list in his memory
To be taken for granted against the absurd
When announced as the Doctor on duty