The Taste and the Cure

for dVerse




The taste shapes

acrid, like medicine

clichés, cacophony

actions louder than words

which even if I spoke

you’d never hear

so entrenched in your world

blood kin consecrating

I am the gnat buzzing

swat-worthy, flicking your hand

to drive me away

I am the medicine

you spit out never believing

you might need.

My rainbow horizon beckons.



Sascha Darlington 6/19/2018


Categories: dVerse, poems

Tagged as: , , , ,

23 replies »

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