Bread and Cheese in the Doctor's Surgery

An obscure breakfast My sugar dumpling Spilled over plates And leaving me wanting Time woven in gentle, glancing touches Grazing the internal organs Wiring them up to the heat of the outside The glory and deceit of treatments The sheer metal surrounds Glancing and spreading flat onto a table Paper replacing the maggot spew Holy as whims Silent as the short side of a door I ask for nothing Except that the conduct Be worthy of its own means I hide like a fungal growth In the sourest corner of your heart