Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Strings, particles, molecules.

At the edge of something,
a funny taste in the mouth
and a dull sense of unrest
blooming out of proportion,
I drive myself to the emergency room.

I need to
banish the culprit,
stuff it with pills,
give it some attention.

I used to be in charge of big problems
multi-tasked for hours,
wrote multi-paged
in different colors
in different fonts
illuminated by real lazer beams
the likes of which found only in The Vatican!

Now, this little-bitty twisty toe
a tiny molecule of it, actually, is
sending nasty messages to all my particles
all I have been,
all I could be.
I'm waiting to be called in
to be waited on
and then, sent home with a tiny vial of


  1. Rosaria, you are such a talented writer!!

  2. rosaria, it doesn't negate what you have been. it simply informs you that you were not what you thought you were. we are always the hulking mass with the thorn in the sole that can take us down we just put too much faith in our lasers and our fine print. can you imagine if we always knew this? can you imagine what the world might be? would we be softer for it? would we be gentler because of it? would we always then know empathy?