Wednesday, 19 January 2011

Epilepsy poem

Epilepsy: the mind coughs one of those dry stuttering coughs,
the ones that comes unbidden, sudden, and seizes the lungs
and you can do nothing but cough nothing for long seconds.

The net of thought inside the brain clenches on nothing,
and scrapes sparkles and void from the friction of it.
The coughing goes on, and nothing seems to stop it.

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