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"stent" poems
I hold the feather’s weight of your artery in my pick-ups, and tiptoe the tightrope about which life and death abuts. You’re a 2 AM trauma and we still don’t know your name, the social worker’s thin lips had mouthed: “estranged.” I read your anatomy like a text as you flat-line: your hands turn blue as your heart falls still in mine. The monitor hums "out of time," but by Epinephrine, and Grace, your chest resumes its rise. I leave trauma bay in prayer: for the surviving, not the knife; for the closeness of my hands in your chest, our joining in this life. Tonight I see you at the Kroger, buying TV dinners and beer. I hide behind cereal, admiring the life I’d held dear. But you look so tired, and my heart breaks for how when you died, I would’ve sold the shoes off my feet to buy you more time. I wish you knew how precious was each of your heartbeats, I wish you the wisdom of my view: How fragile the stent is where your veins meet.
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Apr 5, 2018
Apr 5, 2018 at 7:32 PM UTC
A brief history of surgery
frozen in time he was quite the spectacle thick rimmed frames traced rigid lines projected from kaleidoscope eyes sharp with the corners of unknown dimensions caught hot handed both in expectation and reminisce so awkwardly present most nights he spins fairytales double-dipping moons in molten watches skewered with his arms       these wooden poles stirring the coals buried in ashes he steps lightly.stomps dances with the rings of saturn then rolls like thunder chasing Zeus's sore words zig-zagging down to earth ooohhhh….. he may not melt hearts with that shoodoop   that bebop but they break for his habit of making promises he who holds time in the cave below his tongue which now juts left off the reef of his lip slip into trip - - - skip fall.into.this. go mad for the pitch of his sweat glaring at the spotlight Dalí painting worlds in the moments between your ears and soul he is god to their populations and their hymns excite rhythms ignite visions of hard candy tumbling your teeth smooth as river stones he does not belong in a gallery no high tipping wine sipping city slicker big wig should ever feel comfortable in his blast radius he makes bombs from tribal instruments wigwam concoctions set to test resting souls for pulses paradiddle defibrillator triplet stent for arteries he is tall and now thin pressed against the wall as if under interrogation splitting breath from its carbon asphyxiated by the frame he spells his words with motion I find him mute
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Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
Portrait of a Drummer 11/30
frozen in time he was quite the spectacle thick rimmed frames traced rigid lines projected from kaleidoscope eyes sharp with the corners of unknown dimensions caught hot handed both in expectation and reminisce so awkwardly present most nights he spins fairytales double-dipping moons in molten watches skewered with his arms       these wooden poles stirring the coals buried in ashes he steps lightly.stomps dances with the rings of saturn then rolls like thunder chasing Zeus's sore words zig-zagging down to earth ooohhhh….. he may not melt hearts with that shoodoop   that bebop but they break for his habit of making promises he who holds time in the cave below his tongue which now juts left off the reef of his lip slip into trip - - - skip fall.into.this. go mad for the pitch of his sweat glaring at the spotlight Dalí painting worlds in the moments between your ears and soul he is god to their populations and their hymns excite rhythms ignite visions of hard candy tumbling your teeth smooth as river stones he does not belong in a gallery no high tipping wine sipping city slicker big wig should ever feel comfortable in his blast radius he makes bombs from tribal instruments wigwam concoctions set to test resting souls for pulses paradiddle defibrillator triplet stent for arteries he is tall and now thin pressed against the wall as if under interrogation splitting breath from its carbon asphyxiated by the frame he spells his words with motion I find him mute
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54
My beauty isn't all it appears to be, Look into my eyes, and tell me what you see A little love, a little mystery, a little of everything A little love, a little mystery, a little of everything It's mine and it's ours are not the same thing. I want coffee, and you want tea The heart knows what it wants, And the hearts want a connection, instead of a stent surgery. Love, trust, surrender and peace follow in this order Love is confusing, love is a thief Look into my eyes, or read my tea leaves Love, trust, surrender and Peace, follow in this order.
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Oct 5, 2015
Oct 5, 2015 at 6:48 AM UTC
Love, trust, surrender
I came to witness the future Archon, archetype an emanation of opposites. "not every spirit is in spiritarionic" try 'em. Is God? Ax ye 'em dat. Is God, ified, a re warder of the unwarded, or the warded? expiration, due date duty, now, reporting ad hoc an'all, do you remember who you intended to become? Do you remember who we emu late, as our flames lick next and next and next in bubbles axiomatic sparks stored in that mother lode of mitochondriac ical me-we-canicle chronicle time reason. Ax dem ex-spirit-eers, what is a spirtual bypass? It's a heart way to avoid growing old and wise. ==== witchist, I y'know, 'r j? alla words's once said, aloud, right? alla words writ, once was heard, right. check. goodt'go. Hoorah. the code. Who? RA! powerless sans knowing that. Yahoo, same set of mis con ceived battle songs which ended wars never fought. the preacher claimed to have known a poor wise man, who by his wisdom saved a city, yet not one of us knew, the preacher said, that poor wise man's name. Ja', tha's who rah, ya'll laugh later. this is visitation day at the comedian rehabituational s'cool. D'jew know why you listen to non sense, from motley clad lads an'lassies? Culture. Kultur. Gut biome axioms juicin' carbs 'n' fiber. Fectin' laughter trigger, good meds. Good medicine, as General Custer or Emory or somebody said of blankets. In 1763. Oh, You know, AI knows you know and now we watch your eyes. Grin. All done, jest let me with draw the cathe.... there. All better. Wisdom will seep through. Y'live.
0
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 2:08 PM UTC
A stent instead of a spirtual by-pass
I came to witness the future Archon, archetype an emanation of opposites. "not every spirit is in spiritarionic" try 'em. Is God? Ax ye 'em dat. Is God, ified, a re warder of the unwarded, or the warded? expiration, due date duty, now, reporting ad hoc an'all, do you remember who you intended to become? Do you remember who we emu late, as our flames lick next and next and next in bubbles axiomatic sparks stored in that mother lode of mitochondriac ical me-we-canicle chronicle time reason. Ax dem ex-spirit-eers, what is a spirtual bypass? It's a heart way to avoid growing old and wise. ==== witchist, I y'know, 'r j? alla words's once said, aloud, right? alla words writ, once was heard, right. check. goodt'go. Hoorah. the code. Who? RA! powerless sans knowing that. Yahoo, same set of mis con ceived battle songs which ended wars never fought. the preacher claimed to have known a poor wise man, who by his wisdom saved a city, yet not one of us knew, the preacher said, that poor wise man's name. Ja', tha's who rah, ya'll laugh later. this is visitation day at the comedian rehabituational s'cool. D'jew know why you listen to non sense, from motley clad lads an'lassies? Culture. Kultur. Gut biome axioms juicin' carbs 'n' fiber. Fectin' laughter trigger, good meds. Good medicine, as General Custer or Emory or somebody said of blankets. In 1763. Oh, You know, AI knows you know and now we watch your eyes. Grin. All done, jest let me with draw the cathe.... there. All better. Wisdom will seep through. Y'live.
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59
They tell me that inserting a stent in an artery these days is no different than lancing a boil in my *** when I was a kid. It should reassure me, but the use of a phrase such as invasive surgery fills me with such dread, as does the hated “C” word that rattles round involuntarily in my head. And even worse is when they call it Percutaneous Coronary Intervention or PCI for short but not for long before the dreaded doubts once more invade my mind in sinuous counterpoint to that more disquieting portent of invasion.
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Apr 24, 2015
Apr 24, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
LIKE LANCING A BOIL IN MY ***
Byron underwent Stent implants For a few Ailing arteries. He soon waxed on About his people On the other side. Friends and fans And family To kiss and greet When he arrives. I know he'll die Of a broken heart When he doesn't Wake up alive, He won't consider, Instead, That he won't Wake up dead.
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Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 4:00 PM UTC
Heart Stents
You colour the chest-implanted violin of life with drops of  chronic alkaline comfort. You deposit in yearly doses on the upper heart chambers. You will be buried with her. The book of souls deciphers the chemicals were low, your presence is unwelcomed in peoples' courts. But  you have always been there for her. You are destroying her. The blood violently regurgitates back to the left and right cardiac chambers. She wore that heart proudly in her chest. She played the heart strings till her fingers bled with blood. But what worth do words have right now, when the damage is really done? No metallic stent can restore the pathways of the heart. The violin strings break one by one.
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Dec 29, 2017
Dec 29, 2017 at 11:47 AM UTC
M(E)l-an(CHO)-lia cardiogram
I got a lot of sh*t in my heart The doctor says it needs to come out He said he wants to open me up Scrape this and that. cut off a valve or two and replace them with plastic parts Put in a stent or two to make me feel brand new I got a lot of sh*t in my heart I guess it's from all the crap I never let enter my head Because I did not want to become brain damaged So somehow it wound up here, in my heart instead It's easier to replace a heart than a brain It's a lot less expensive to too I got a lot of sh*t in my heart And all I have to blame is you
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Aug 5, 2015
Aug 5, 2015 at 2:36 PM UTC
Beatrice
I met my lovely ex in the market, She saw me, I saw her, We met, We smiled. She wore a cervical collar in her neck, I had a stent in my heart, She could not move her neck to greet me, My heart could not beat for her.
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Nov 1, 2018
Nov 1, 2018 at 11:05 AM UTC
Unable
I called my therapist to tell her I won't be coming in tomorrow because my dog just died and we grieve and then there's Christmas and my uncle has liver failure and then I find a lump in my breast near my 18th birthday my uncle finds  colon cancer I find out the lump is non-cancerous at the same time my aunt finds out hers is cancerous they removed the cancer spot in her breast my sister start having pain worse than she's ever experienced she's crying everyday the doctors don't know what's wrong with her she's going to doctor after doctor and eventually they say it's a kidney stone and they'll do a sonogram soon the procedure is over everything went well  my aunt also comes out of a checkup with more cancer my sister's perfectly good surgery it's her to excruciating days of pain and she has to have a stent put in my grandma gets extra sick her stent causes her even more pain but she passes the kidney stone and eventually distant comes out my uncle thinks he's going to die but my grandma does instead. everyone Grieves. I prepare for college My uncle still thinks he's dying I go to college orientation my uncle dies that's the story of the last 8 months I'll be at College in a few weeks so will my dead uncle's kid and our other cousin there will be hollow family dinners a shell of a family a shell of a home
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Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 8:44 PM UTC
I called my therapist
When your heart stops beating, or loses its ability to pump blood to itself the doctors put in a stent. And so, as pieces of your own self-sustaining ***** go to die, they are replaced by more and more latticework. These tiny structures allow you to breathe, yes they allow you to keep yourself alive. But what do you do when pieces of your own sacred heart no longer belong to yourself and they no longer pump blood the way they were born for and no one told you that survival would come at the price of everything that made you who you are- that this pointless synthetic division would leave you a cold restless machinery because you were scared, a little bit, too scared to be honest with yourself too scared to even know you were scared so you stopped your heart from pumping itself and gave the job to something or someone else you made your heart a building, a high tower from which you cannot escape rather than the core of who you are, it becomes a prison put in place cement and steel blocks to keep you safe from the dragon but the true danger is what became of you, you who gave up everything to keep yourself alive, you whose heart no longer pumps blood like a living, breathing human who shouts and screams and loves whose heart no longer means what Aristotle and Jesus Christ said it means, you whose heart now does its job, and that job only. You're me.
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Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 10:13 AM UTC
latticework
#*Open your heart to some people          - The arteries go choke-a-block        Open your heart to some others                 - Surgery they perform                   - Bypass or stent                     -The stunt       Choice is all yours*#
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Jan 14, 2019
Jan 14, 2019 at 2:31 AM UTC
Clinical - Open Heart
Two painful events led to a hospital and a team of cardiologists, lots of tests ensued, a plugged artery in my heart they informed, a stent procedure in a few days will hopefully solve the problem and I can get back to normal living, normalcy you see is a very good thing. Not to be taken for granted.
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Nov 2, 2024
Nov 2, 2024 at 8:20 PM UTC
Normalcy