Intubate
Medical student, why don’t you intubate? / The OR is safe, it’ll go great.
Medical student, why don’t you intubate? / The OR is safe, it’ll go great.
In the hospital lobby, three police officers / surrounded a woman in an oversized, white T-shirt, / sitting in a corner chair that nearly swallowed her whole, / enveloping her in its dull, floral pattern.
Why — why did you die? / Your soul took to the sky / without a conscious goodbye
The quaternary code, the winding staircase / of you, incommensurate in its beauty.
The child’s restful sleep is lost / To the hisses of serpents and other seditious demons
My relaxed reveal / faked a fool / while tanking time / with failing fuel.
Comparison is the enemy / The future seems bleak / Look left, look right
Unsheathe a hollow spear and spill from ephemeral streams of blue. / Hold it against me only for a moment to let my skin seize against the cold steel.
On a search for / assurance, / I was sat across / the Intrepid
There is something about lighting a match. / Such power and awe, / Something that might catch a stronghold
There is a darkness that lingers above. / Alive and breathing, / Short shallow breaths.
There are fewer flowers in the hospital rooms now. / The ones sent to room 22 / have been taken out.