Dirges, songs

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.

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1 Response to Dirges, songs

  1. Hans Lillegard says:

    excellent poem…the end makes me think of the Buddhist conception of death.

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