Is it just me? / Or does it seem / that my pride / will not let me be
I found them for you. / Your blonde little girls who grew into women / Then grew apart from you. / I found them.
I first met you at age 13. / You hid behind a / camouflage of naivety.
My balance beam within the clouds / Seems lost amongst the starry night / As dreams and thoughts blur vision to / The reality of my true plight.
I’ve heard this before, / This insidious pain you describe, / That grinds and gnaws / Diffusely below the stomach
Where the consciousness floats into the medicine / Where the sacred meets the metal / Where the steel cuts the energy field
We were called out. From the darkness, we came. Like a deer in the black morning, we arose in that witching hour before the sun obliterates the fog to begin our walk on that narrow path.
I approach the translucent window, / a milky opacity locking tight its hinges. / Vainly I press forward, reaching / for the soft sill on which to rest my hand.
We wield the privilege of the scalpel, / Slice skin, / Cauterize the cutaneous, / Disrobe the depths of disease.
It’s 1 a.m., everyone’s running on three cups of coffee / When a man stumbles through the entrance / And I could hear whispers of / It’s him, the homeless man, back in the ER again
The electrodes are more valuable than your mind. / Rounded percentages and minced words cannot disguise / the fact. Your mind is not your own.
The first thing she noticed, / Was her heart fluttering off and on, / The doctor saw her pale, / And iron pills were called upon.