WHOEVER CARES?
So then yes actually, who cares?
Why all this solicitude to life and
manners? The women come in as
nurses, exuding their manners and
forcefields, leading nowhere. I bow
at nothing and, apparently too new
and young for this 'patient' crowd,
here must only accept their medicines,
upon which my manner of being hinges.
There's no one here I'd recognize, nor
even take an evening stroll with.
-
Good fences make good neighbors, but
on such a count, really, who cares at all?
-
My skin is raw and my hairs are all ripped
out, for tapes and removals and needles in
place. Blood sticks to skin, and a large
bruise now grows where the needles go
in. 'Tis said, 'Pride goeth before the fall' -
but whoever now cares of that at all?
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