How lucky water
freezes, so ice floats,
blood clots
staunch wounds.
Diseases which haunt
our worst thoughts
fortunately remain
few and far between.
But when you touch
a scab crusted on raw
memory, do not pick
at it – it might bleed.
Poetry by George Lang
How lucky water
freezes, so ice floats,
blood clots
staunch wounds.
Diseases which haunt
our worst thoughts
fortunately remain
few and far between.
But when you touch
a scab crusted on raw
memory, do not pick
at it – it might bleed.