Listen soldier to the tale of tendor nightingale
Tis a charm that soon will ease your wounds so cruel,
Singing medicine for your pain in a sympathetic strain
with a jug, jug, jug of lemonade or gruel.

Singing bandages and lint; salve and stearate without stint
Singing plenty both of liniment and lotion.
And your mixtures pushes about
And the pills for you served out
With alacrity and promptitute of motion

Singing light and gentle hands, and a nurse who understands
How to manage every sort of application.
From a poultice to leach, whom you haven't got to teach,
The way to make a poppy fomentation.

Singing pillow for you smoothed; smart and anguish smoothed,
By the rediness of feminine invention.
Singing fever thirst allayed, and the bed you've tumbled made
With a cheerful and considerate attention.

Singing succour to the brave and a rescue from the grave,
Hear the nightingale that's come to the crimea.
Tis a nightingale as strong in her heart as in her song,
To carry out so gallant an idea.

It seems to
me that
truth

will never be
placed into
words

A distant gaze
forever into
oblivion

while faint feelings
cross chapped
lips


A wonted fomentation;
this fabricated
fancy.

Our stares seem
longer than
needed

Or maybe she
slows down
time

I can’t tell.
All I can do is watch

See if the first was fear
Until that last was supermarket beer
The buttress is golems and frights and fomentation in lacey tights
Body lowers as girth widens
but that's physics
only spiritually
it will always be
the other way round inimically 'apprise them'
As standing tall is subterfuge
And as time is wasting and the waist it is defying
It is all undue

& either flowery bowery butchery cynical slithery maniacal
Co eccentric-cism caught the common cohabitation
Tarnish on the door of morn and in night
Or on another day of looking at tattered floors debuted so sinister
yet book end dull receding is
Candle light
The flickers in brain wish wash and forlorned
then senses inane
and finnigan begin again
What else can one say?

Delicate Truths May be

Wings slip...
Wings slip and flap,
undersetten or with a twinkle,
  Twenty memories: a statue that's governing

Icons yearn
yet this platter, as the Tea Tree,
disseminates  scents for reality is of realms

This Hearth is set with invocations
and a summons to transfer
Wild Moon jive from Saints with answers
          
    To a wandering exculpated eye, it winces
     To weakness which exposes & affirms, the mint

That's the sort - memories, free thought,
From personal thought to zero signals...

Which of all this  places a tangent on panache on the path
  of our war field's signals...?

It's unjust to allow victory with allegory of causes and victory's style

Vices as a newbie, like chocolate's reaches and stretches
                                  &
reaching the great move and groove titles
to simply include that  on the inside, all thoughts, are messages of reason, satisfaction
and against all odds.
Now therein lays, factual chains, be they of... death eternal, decisions to decision or innate toast to freedoms
Well are all and any of all beings may emote, a wit thereof
Sixty years viewing the simulacrum the wrongs, reasons

Yet levity and acumen and even mere variance
ever intentions could take
forever the grandest stand
Yet throughout this self judgment real disturbance, fomentation,
and being vociferous  

Spikes so nervous, only still, the Machiavellians  pound and plan