a satire-like never-ending story, collected from some recent inside information,
also a kind of doctor's nightmare,
with thanks to Troll for her delightful surrealism
He is a prophet in his own right,
since he is always right,
his self-righteousness breaking all records,
since he squints to his right side
with what I believe to be an enamel eye,
for he never looks you in the eye.
Still, as a doctor he knows exactly
what medicines to feed you with
and believes he cures of everything
in his own right infallibility
although you flush them all down the toilet
since you prefer staying alive and sane
so that you can observe the established insanity
of your own infallible doctor and his nurses
who keep feeding him with medicines,
medicines, mind you, that he never prescribes for his patients,
since he wants to be sure that he only gets well himself
and no one else, since he needs his patients
to provide his hospital with income and enough guests
to ensure stately subsidies
without which his funhouse wouldn't be so funny any more
but would be shut down
since all the patients got away and all the nurses fatally intoxicated
from the medicines provided by their doctor
so that they would comply well on the couch
day and night
and forget about all the healthy patients,
which they so miserable failed to make sicker
since they all flushed down all their medicines in the toilet....
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 762 times
Written on 2006-09-04 at 10:02
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also a kind of doctor's nightmare,
with thanks to Troll for her delightful surrealism
181. The Funhouse High Priest
He is a prophet in his own right,
since he is always right,
his self-righteousness breaking all records,
since he squints to his right side
with what I believe to be an enamel eye,
for he never looks you in the eye.
Still, as a doctor he knows exactly
what medicines to feed you with
and believes he cures of everything
in his own right infallibility
although you flush them all down the toilet
since you prefer staying alive and sane
so that you can observe the established insanity
of your own infallible doctor and his nurses
who keep feeding him with medicines,
medicines, mind you, that he never prescribes for his patients,
since he wants to be sure that he only gets well himself
and no one else, since he needs his patients
to provide his hospital with income and enough guests
to ensure stately subsidies
without which his funhouse wouldn't be so funny any more
but would be shut down
since all the patients got away and all the nurses fatally intoxicated
from the medicines provided by their doctor
so that they would comply well on the couch
day and night
and forget about all the healthy patients,
which they so miserable failed to make sicker
since they all flushed down all their medicines in the toilet....
Poetry by Christian Lanciai
Read 762 times
Written on 2006-09-04 at 10:02
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text|
Troll |
