looking for a cure

past the edge of what is real
we slip into aspiration
imagining long days
unmarked by constant blood
sugar checks,
where every morsel
ceases to be a hammer blow
on the psyche
or a mathematical game
between insulin and carbohydrate.

deep in hospitals and laboratories
war rooms against disease
they plot deep strategies
imagining minutes of peace
better and smarter
machines, a time when
a finger stick is not
an occasion for blood,
while we on the front lines
wielding sharp objects
against our perforated skin
just want the war to cease.

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