Saturday, August 20, 2011

On the Ward

 Horse-headed horror hanging in the corners, make-believing
They cut me right down the middle, and I crossed over
They used clamps to hold me open, but the substance had long ago seeped away
Nothing to find there now but innards, them too leaking slowly
Scrape the wound, consult the bandage, find neither the highway nor the sign
I'm oppressed by the paper's glare, and I wonder how does darkness cast its shadow
I'm not gone yet, but I'm not getting up
Pretty nurse's hand up your thigh
And nothing moves, just the line
Drip the dream back into you
No one sleeps alone
Television burning through the night as I make my shuffling rounds
Dangling from a coatrack, urine in my hand
The old ones say little, they never sleep
Time enough soon for that, I guess, though I don't dare ask
Ah, you'll be leaving here soon, they heckle
But even tourists get killed sometimes I think
Especially if they don't know the lay of the land
Darkness's shadow is no bigger than a rat, scratching around
Less easily frightened, a small little thing, furtive and brave, silverfooted ferret phantom
No bigger than your shoe
Slyer than a fox, but damp
Winged like a bat, but earthbound
Moves every time you do, and keeps its distance
Can't be trapped with mirrors
No sadder or more restless than you are
Just here, just like you
Lives in the corner of your eye
There is something underneath
I've seen it
There ain't nothing wrong with being high
And there ain't nothing to be afraid of
Not junk, and not pain
Everyone's got their own definition
Whatever makes you dream

No comments:

Post a Comment