Appointment to have ***** removed by robot-assisted surgeon.
Air-conditioned, no mosquitoes in the OR. When you arrive
You'll remove all your clothes. Naked before the ladies, nurses
Who have seen it all before. Mainly remember you're not unique.
Think about the government while they're mixing up the medicine.
There's always governance even if there's little or no government.
Back to counting backwards. Inside out, if I die, will I know it?

At 70, Jack's running the gauntlet with some skill!
Benny Golson wonders aloud what might have been
Had Clifford Brown not been killed in that auto accident.
Jack's girlfriend once said he was the reincarnation of Clifford
But he doesn't believe in ghosts, karma or an afterlife.
Benny's old girlfriend Betty inspired the tune Along Came Betty
And that's the most afterlife Benny or Betty's gonna get.

The Trojan bench being not as deep as the Greek
Once Sarpedon and Hector go down even the lucky shot
To Achilles' feet is not enough to save the town.
Aeneas is no match for wily Odysseus
Although unbeknownst to all he has the last laugh when Rome
Conquers Athens, the Myrmidons, what's left of Ilion
And the whole known world from India to Britain.

It's not bad to acknowledge death's primacy
Although after a while you stop remembering
To fear. That's when everything becomes clear
Purpose v. purposelessness matters less,
Anomie v. rule of law, that's a preference
Love v. loneliness, worth about 25 cents
Or a million bucks in the light of the holocaust.

Nothing but light, love and the majesty of death in the room.
Machines stand ready like marines, their beauty is in the motion
That overcomes inertia. The food supply is deeply compromised
So eat whatever you want. Mourning the dead is part of the business
Of healing and staying alive. When you get to the afterlife, walk with
      eyes open,
Ocotillo and cactus may be in flower. The robot does the work,
      imposes
Its own small order, like a ******* a bicycle with disorder in her hair.

I am falling,
Yet going nowhere.
Like stagnant water, I attract the mosquitoes of society.
Blood ******* parasites.
Perhaps I have become one of them.
closing my eyes for a few more moments, I briefly acknowledge these thoughts, then slide out of bed.
My stomach turns, and I tip toe to the kitchen, knowing food will only make me sick.
My clumsy hands form my morning dose on the kitchen table.
No hesitation this time, I embrace my old friend.
He sprints through my veins.
Graciously numbing nerves, and blurring lines.
Temporary comfort is better than none, but I am back within a few hours
Staring at another line.
I cannot help but wonder which level of hell I'll be assigned, when I finally insufflate my last line.
I wear the guilt more comfortably than my own skin
I am trapped

What do you think
of the man peeing, the ever-******* mouse?
Finding meaning in killing
and cleaning house.

Sal quit school,
your lover stops writing.
Eternity's waiting,
a lazy-eyed tiger.

Or everything's cool
even the fighting.
The weather is perfect
for swimming or dying.

Physical dizziness,
mental uneasiness.
Isn't exercise
the best blood pressure medicine?

Universally sad
about my mortality
but also glad
to be leaving the party.

The noise was incessant,
success inconsistent.
The demands of my neighbors,
employers, persistent.

Belonging is longing
for complete solitude.
Seas, odysseys
the loneliness of being spouse.

Rain of April, rain of August
writing of it dry as dust.
What's my reason, rhyme?
Pass the time, pass the season.

If you're alone as you get, why are you crying?
Hold steady until a tsunami.
Then swim if you can. Don't gulp.
Hit in the head by speeding debris. Couldn't be helped.

Come a little closer and you will soon see
Run your fingers along the cracked parts of me

The cracks etch my thighs, hips, and *******
Each crevice: white, purple, and ruby red

What once was flat and smooth has changed
Bulges and ripples: new landscape

Voices continue to point my flaws out to me
The mirror screams failure; I choose recovery

Previously, these porcelain walls were kept neat
Prim and polished on the inside – pink squeaky clean

Now, this doll is filled with laughter and cheesecake
But the cracks in my mask are all on display

He tells me he loves every part of me
And stretched skin is a part of my story

But I cannot tell if I’m breaking my “perfect” shell
Or if I want to go back to my personal hell