|Reviewed by Kate Burnside
|I find morphine very creepy. Perhaps it's because of the very atmospheric and chilling song by the Rolling Stones, Sister Morphine. There's something very Alice about anaesthesias... the dispenser has total control over where you fall asleep; where and, more importantly, WHEN you wake up. That being the case, your whole world can be manipulated by suggestion of your being where and when you're not. Compelling poem that stimulates rather than dulls! :)) xx|
|Reviewed by Karen Vanderlaan
|why are we and have we chosen to be so miserable-sad, so sad that we feel we must medicate in order to get by-a good write|
|Reviewed by Patrick Granfors
|Poppy seed veterans
Seasonally Posted at the Walmart
Bless them all
For the pain I never knew
|Reviewed by Dayvid Graybill
|Pass the spoon....no...no...don't spill it! As a morphite, I slept with Abe...er...what's her name?...Damn! You spilled it on the wooden floor. No, I can't feel the splinters in my tongue.
Peace and tender love,
|Reviewed by John Flanagan
|Erudite and sharp, Sage; reading this is enough drug for me...high and light on your great words.
|Reviewed by Jon Willey
|The warmth of gray cotton embraces me. The sun shines through a velvet haze of puce. This tarry bitch nestled in my spoon knows I love her without compromise. This relationship is overt, no guise, my sleepy eye lids see with renewed clarity. Only without her is there disparity. Though I never have and never had the desire to. Those I have known describe the black tarry substance as I have related. Sage, you wonderful woman there is more magic here than I could conjure up in a season of poems. I bid you love and peace my dear friend. Jon Michael|
|Reviewed by Ed Matlack
|Nothing like a little morphine buzz on your birthday, Happy Happy young lady...ed|
|Reviewed by Gene Williamson
|Your talent is boundless, Sage. Love this.
Hell, if it waas good enough for Ms Lincoln...
|Reviewed by Peter Schlosser (Reader)
|opiate of the masses. hermann goering was quite fond of this stuff too. hell, what's not to love. until one becomes a slave to it, that is. terrific piece. i'd say your poetry though is better than a morphine drip any day of the week. more, more please. i'll dump my computer at the pawn shop, just please one more poem. i swear it's the last time :-)|
|Reviewed by pat medlin
|a little over mine too sage...i realy like 'society of apothecaries...symbols engraved on morphine spoons' hmmmm|
|Reviewed by Christine Tsen
|This is over my head, Sage, but I understand enough to know it is brilliant poetry and sweeps me away.
|Reviewed by D. Vaineo
|Sage, WoW! Brilliant,as only you can write it !!