Alagoas - Gifts from Enola

How needing of compassion are we

Who eavesdrop so obsessively

Listening in on sick men mumbling secrets to themselves in empty rooms

And what audacity

What childish sort of pride

To drop their heartache at their feet

And cast their candidness aside

And looking not into their eyes

But through the vast network of screens

We scream:

'These strange new words of yours

No longer suit our needs'

As if we were the ones they sought to please

The cure is your own words

If it doesn’t burn its not working