Salve for X:
There is no salve for X.
This problem exists only
for those who believe it.
never do it --
that is,
slave for X:
ended up enslaving X and running off with
none other than.  And hinging the hypotenuse
we found the time to make a salad.
At least ten cranberries lined up for the fall, each
nut hung carelessly on it's sympathetic ligature
but bent under dangling, and outwardly a
sad pony, going straight for the mall solution, mad about
Philodendrons and providing instrumention for the most sedentary
of the lost wayfarers, those sunk in plush cushioned
laments, grieving exceedingly the newest
Model T went off in a fine spray of weasel
backing and underneath the trickiest shade of lime
no Channidae would know where you wander, dear
lost among the atmospheres, sucking down lung-fuls of African
wildberries, faded like yellowed-newspaper, dripping ink into a closed hand, an opened fist