Abstract Inn

“There is no subject matter more pertinent,”
Dribbled Sickness to Health,
As they sat opposite each other over a smoke-veiled table,
In a bar called the Abstract Inn.

Health nodded its consent, with the warm amber of vitality painted like honey over its skin,
“The issue raised is of worth and wonder, the virtues it brings of mirth and of thunder,
Announced from lips and proclaimed through kisses, holding in one hand roses and in the other thistles,
Painted in sacrifice but stencilled in selfish, divine in success and in its failure hellish,
With sonnets in its breath but curses in its shrieks,” and thus did Health speak.

Health reaches for a drink; honey, water, milk and lemon,
Sickness on an IV with morphine, bile, blood and whisky,
Sickness lays it’s weeping, cracked arms on the table,
And parts its dry lips to speak.

Sickness exhales a dull, dusty breath that rattles in its throat before gurgling out its say,
“The issue raised is of note and beauty, its sins like rot on a blooming fruit-tree,
Announced in orgasmic shrieks and proclaimed in tears, holding in one hand weeks and in the other years,
Painted by such adventurous power but with a cautious hand, success blooming flowers that failure turns to sand,
With hatred in its howls, but sincerest kindness in its eyes,” did Sickness then longingly sigh.

Health raises its glass and Sickness raises an arm,
They raise a toast between the two, in Healths hand and from Sickness wrist,
“Careful with that,” says Health, “you’ll get pissed.”