They Do It With Crystals by Ben Banyard

Somewhere
behind a fug of Sandalwood,
tiny bells, the crackle of beads
and a whale’s distress call
can be heard.

Something
fraudulent is taking place.
A healing placebo, possibly.
The logic is fuzzy, angora woolly;
it incenses me.

Someone
riddled with a black-named poison,
and who deserves real care,
has been prescribed an overdose
of snake oil.

Ben Banyard lives in Portishead, where he writes poetry and short fiction. His work has appeared in Popshot, Lunar Poetry, Ink Sweat & Tears, Eunoia Review, The Stare's Nest and others. Ben edits Clear Poetry (https://clearpoetry.wordpress.com) a blog publishing accessible writing by newcomers and old hands alike.

Ben Banyard lives in Portishead, where he writes poetry and short fiction. His work has appeared in Popshot, Lunar Poetry, Ink Sweat & Tears, Eunoia Review, The Stare’s Nest and others. Ben edits Clear Poetry (https://clearpoetry.wordpress.com) a blog publishing accessible writing by newcomers and old hands alike.

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