The drums sound,
They thunder off a roll call.
Present and accounted for is your head,
Splayed raw on the pillow:
A bowling ball of led.

Eyes shuttered
mind can’t help but think how opening them will sound:
A screeching nails on chock board wail echoing through the empty grotto of your right eye.

Not to mention the rusty needle digging out
a radioactive maggot through your right ear: slowly
Boiling simmering festering carelessly twisting on the way out.

The drums sound,
They thunder off a roll call.
Present and accounted for is your head,
One was all it wanted.
One beat to go through the skin of the drum
Until you realize the drum is your heart and still: you see a pierced drum and
Its pain becomes your pain. a violently pierced drum and again

The drums sound,
They thunder off a roll call.
Present and accounted for is your head,
A led balloon gyroscope looking down at the bathroom sink.

No, I don’t think I have a migraine today.
Nothing a pare of  The darkest cheep sunglasses,
Six  or eight pills of whatever,
And a couple of cigarettes can’t put a dent into.

The drums sound,
They thunder off a roll call.
Sound off, left (left first because it hurts less) right. Left,
Right, left