Tuesday, April 19, 2022


 Burn Out

It's a gut punch, ER calling again

Can’t remember the last time

I wasn't in the hospital,

Twenty one days in a row 

Now, not sure, the suns and moons

Running together you stop caring

So much about yourself

About the day, the time 

And then everything else

Except for the task at hand;

An abscess to lance

A port to place

Left colon to mobilize 

The perfectly arrayed mesh

No before or after

Everything distilled down  

To the timeless immediacy 

Slicing my days

Into bracketed slivers

Incisions that only happen now.

There are unintended side effects 

Of course, emotional detachment

Disengagement, psychic injury 

But you can’t really feel it

When it's actually happening.

Like the wound that hurts worse 

When the lidocaine wears off  

Absence of pleasure

In the usual sense 

But it felt real, I felt alive,

Somehow, amid the numbed


And the world of things 

Remains as it is;

Faintly interesting, articulable 

But unreal, like a diorama

Of life behind bullet proof glass

Drained of color

Like a black and white

Sketch of people vaguely known.

I like it this way, sometimes,

Everything less complex.

I watch the world and think—

I could draw that, yes


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