Psoriasis bequeathed our scripts
to four whom I admire.
They've shared the skin that gives us fits
yet write about desire.
Try Baker's U & I and Vox
and Updike's oeuvre entire.
Nabokov's gone. He lifted off,
preceding Potter skyward.
Four psoriatics, two upstairs
who outgrew earth's attire,
I thank for books of theirs I've shared
and kept. I am a buyer.
Their covers, like an outer skin,
peel open for a look within
at tragicomic, feisty sin.
My psyche gets the benefit
of pithiness, complicit wit.
No silly pity ruins it.
So find yourself a place to sit,
and read these four fine conduits,
our pundits of psoriasis. |