Acupuncture

You have too much heat,
my doctor says. Your tongue is
an earthquake fissure,
edges scalloped & red.

A peat bog sometimes
combusts at will,
fire spews from vents in its black
mass like rage from a Catholic father
steeped in whiskey
& disappointment.

The needles at these points--
forehead, ankles, elbows
& thumbs--pierce water meridians
bring cool *chi* to bank fire. This
tea boiled from bitter herbs,
twisted bark & gnarled seeds
will help you sleep;
the stomach will calm,
constant thirst will fade. Your hunger
is not for food but for balance.

The earth wobbles
on its axis, sometimes catches flame,
but it does not fly apart.

For more poems by Richard Beban, visit http://www.psenterprises.com/rbpoems.htm