I’m staring up in the hospital where the white walls and blank food
Peacefully negate time, forgetting myself, throwing myself
At the ceiling, waiting for a life opening my eyes after the water
Strangers exist, or, were we, in death, solitary
In some humanity-sea, some strange current of fear
And love, an exile.
As I stare cross-side from the bed
towards the door (doctor,
Do you hear me, would you call?)
A blankness overtakes
Us sick, not the polite white or the eloquent black,
But the great greys
That paint my world, in its Nocturnes.
I had become a child, weeping onto a breast I couldn’t see
in the narrow press of the dining table
some destruction posed in the cornflakes
doctor, Charon and reverse-Charon
what are my rights,
How long is my sentence, what crude injury has my mind
And body conspired against me?
This is based on a two week stay in a hospital I had after a life-threatening injury.