Assume the fetal position
sullen under the starched sheets
hiding from your mind
as it betrays your sight.
Blood pours forth
spilling urine
discarded to the porcelain
goddesses of these hallways.
You speak only of death today
perseverating on time;
driving home the point
in incoherent diatribes.
Beads of sweat accumulate
on your brow
the only sign of the fever
boiling within your mind.
Lucidity comes in small blasts
verbal ejaculations
of coherent thought
only momentary and without context
making the diagnosis difficult.
The surgeons and psychiatrists
now at odds and wits ends
about the future
of a malignant diagnosis.
Slowly the tincture
crawls into the recesses
of a diseased brain
giving freedom to speech.
I now hold the fluid
of your backbone
sealed in sterile plastic
and bless holy
the waters of your mind.
Pray with me now
over a cup of warm
chocolate milk
on the strength
and resolve of your
cellular interdigitations
keeping viral wrath at bay.
