Wondrous pills and shots with stoppers,
administered by smarts of plaques and diplomas,
the adorations of grandmothers.
I eat and am punctured, po bd, sickly strung
and pampered, a drumskin.
The forest was larger, yet by short occasion
to that place came serums.
The medivogue may be an unruly scout of long life,
but for more breath furling over the opus of airborne pests,
we must eat and be punctured.
I catch the sickness, and they annul it in the brutish pace
They arrange me a meet with a fuckfriend, Mr. Capsule,
here-on but a blood-surfing bee.
In earlier spans, replacing the sea with sand was midday,
post Eocene, and it pulled our new man and venery
quick into that lane, a cul-de-sac, a bedroom.
In later spans we propagate with a dinner of medicines,
the weather inside us, the sand and the sea and the woods
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