A letter to nurses
I see, we are fragile, and as such may break.(may I say easily) But there is a system of people, in place, who quietly give their all. Not so much for their pay, As patching us up as we tear (and may I say up) day after day, after day.
Many thanks…
I time,
Dear earth, of more, than turning mud, I adhere, while squat, and adlib, on you.
As if, Dear earth, you are mechanical. with gears. that grind, and gnash, i see,That have, no utility, than it's own, agenda, that turn, that will turn, on me. Mechanically, blindly Is, and performs as such. As if, I give, my meaning, to be ignored. And If, I moved, i drugg a trail, sifting and lifting, dry water. My one, and only, earth.
Interview with Winston Moctar, author of the album “fin…a mean while”