Paracelcus
I hear the screams of the mandrake
as they are plucked from the earth
by the cattle atop the knoll.
Their squalls reverberate
through the hills and down to the town.
In a hospital, a bloody babe
harmonizes, and the resounding shrills
persist through the corridors and intermingle
with the sonorous drilling of an instrument
that trepans a crown. Outside the town,
the echoes reach a serpent, who hisses
and writhes, biting its tail.
It’s a sort of symphony
that comforts me, and ensures
an inevitable cycle.
