My intent is to write poems about all my recent days (10) in the hospital and put them here. I was battling a nasty, filthy thing called mycoplasma pneumonia. Maybe this will help me update more often. It may have the opposite effect.
PART 1–To the ICU
swathed in what seems to be
opaque plastic wrap,
you ride with jovial strangers
to the fifteenth floor.
A clear mask pushing
oxygen at 100 pound PSI
is placed
over both your mouth
and nose. You are the queen of all,
flying, laughing. Suddenly
everything goes black.
excellent poem…the end makes me think of the Buddhist conception of death.