shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Scott Wiggerman



Beneath the wrinkles, where suffering lies,
bones, hostile as weapons, cannot lie.

Doughy fingers knead the ravaged landscape,
a thousand thistles, while still the body lies.

A soothing bed tempers the tired old frame.
A touch of honey for the flesh, a luscious lie.

Scars spread out like swollen river beds.
Let healing flood the island where she lies.

Where one pain ends, another begins;
but with faith, the body might rise, not lie.