Aug 272011
 

"Wheeled cradled, blank-faced and blue-brained
to the hospital chapel, I watch the ivory pastor's hands
trace shadow rabbits in the air under the florescent cross
and list my sins in silence as he drones redemption;
maybe St. Peter will greet me in heaven with a new guitar.
Something babbles into static as my stroked-out arm relaxes...
A tumor dripping ink now fills my mind, a black bud
swelling to blood-blossom, ready to costume me in blood---
Stalking back from the guillotine like a 50s zombie
blitzed on my first part in the Bs, I wake
socketed in the nMR chamber like a bullet
waiting for the green light to flit my diagnosis
on the big screen, the chart a map of Europe.
I lay enlarged; drugged and irradiated like a fallen fruit.
I still laugh when I hear a democrat's ill.
I was worse: my perennial, emboldened
humor ramping like a bull, I crooned Dukakis is bald
from my black marshall stacks for the innocent fetuses
at the Republican convention, dating Miss America still....
I'm sorry I kicked his Greek hynee. Sorry for all that."

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