A migraine is nothing
less or more than spilled-
over memories that gnaw
the mind like a rattling snake.
Whenever I have one,
I look for remedies
like picking at my ulcers
or discussing gastronomics
with doctors who finally
And when it recurs like
the proverbial last word
I take refuge in wholesome
words, not to write but
to express my loquacity
Even after that if it does not abate, I go to the streets, to listen to barking
dogs and people, go back to the doctors for remedies
And swallow the pills prescribed. Even after that
if nothing happens then I make things, to cut wounds
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