Notes from Nowhere

sunnudagur, nóvember 19, 2006


Outside the library,
two younger men and an older.
I speak English to the operators
Keep him talking -
what did you have for breakfast today? -
he clutches his heart
and slips in and out of conciousness

He is a cold devotee,
of that warmth
alchohol offers, and rips away -
the hardcore version of my own idol,
the sugarrush.

In his desparate and childlike, frozen state,
he gets under my skin
and I realize my good fortune;
and wonder about how best to help people
The paramedic has seen it all before
and gets him standing, and warm -
these arts of ours don't seem at all relevant,
yet perhaps more relevant than ever.

Humbled I am,
and twice humbled
When I wash my hands.


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