
Fluoxetine/ Bubonic //Emily Nicol
This beautiful poem by Emily Nicol is available in our Pills pamphlet
Fluoxetine/Bubonic/Emily Nicol
I wish I could ask
the crow
doctors,
black, waxed, and beaked,
to cure the weeping.
Life is so sore, and sour.
And if anything
(while everything) is happening
in this cavern
head of mine,
I’d like to peer in
to ease pressure,
to sift and filter through
dead weight of dead
thoughts.
Healers were wielders of flame,
hands smeared in ash.
Mine, yet to hold a blaze,
warm a black
box instead.