bloom, fevers flash, nebulae hover,
white and yellow. Can you smile dawn and dusk
and pretend it doesn't hurt? The nurse
a moment her whirl,
too perky, asks if you glitter,
oh organ donor, before they wheel you
to surgery. The anesthesiologist,
upon the shining gears of heaven,
the eternally lit sixteen candles
clear liquids into the IV catheter.
you a machine or Aphrodite's birthday cake?
Can they turn your lights off and on?
you the point of lethal injection?
you'll forget, thank God. Newspaper?
Percolator? You wake with a funny
the words for the opportunity
from your nose, then you are asked
to sign something, the signature
comes from having your eyes opened by bells
isn't yours, and you wake and say yes,
machine, night shirt on pillow,
emergency, and red,
alive, yes, I get to try and figure
city, for long hours, without seeing breakfast
all over again, I know
gumball, doodlebugs, buzz bombs, and rope
what you mean. You say, okay, this is good.