October 26, 2019

• magnetic

  

   

  yesterday.  i unraveled my hopes like a
  prayercloth--torn in places, calligraphy
  bleeding along the edges, devoid of
  answers.

  even after all that has gone before, i
  wanted to believe that they heard me,
  they cared; they were telling the truth...

  my hands were hobbled like birds--a fat
  bulb in my numb right hand, the call-button
  for a nurse who didn't give a shit.

  squeeze that button and you'll get a whole
  bag of wrath, pillows jammed under your knees
  until your legs fall off the sides;

  in the book of lost entries, you no longer
  exist, where you were is a smudged erasure
  in the bottom margin.

  across the hall, lights are shutting off
  but all you can hear is the clang and clatter
  of the MRI machine.

  come lay your bones
  on the alabaster stones

  and if you survive this, know
  that they are irritated that you took
  up their time with your pain...

  yes. you hope for a day with
  soft edges of kindness, buoyant
  with a decent happiness to release
  the heart's shroud...

  but that was a former era.

  this is the last poem in the book

  • 7:14 am
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