You should not dance – in the hospital, waiting butterflies are not thinking of you.
In the room of Deprivation,
Waltz past the drawing table –
Neon steel shines brightly –
electric white cones,
Great giants rise up –
the analgesics needles were angel hairs
that day in September.
Stars – on Cerulean kabuki gowns cast near –
rise above the lapping waves,
then sink mournfully
to the call of a black and white trumpet.
They are invisible to those Grey-green Gowns with the ivory trombones.
Tasking the centre now….
What is missing? ….
Whither you go East or West ,
What time is it now ?
X-rays of empty days,
filling the long hallways with empty weeks,….
I do not believe you.
You can not make transparent promises.
Today we’ll see clouds in the Dishpan Lakes –
“Only currently do imports bring porridge,”
we will say,
perhaps in a Crimson Round Barn,
asking for cocktails
with names like Hot Ash & Black Ginger Gyre.
To discover the world of exhaustion,
Is not a zero –
it is Survival singing
an area into a circumference –
a dance down silent halls
towards that Pale Blue Seamstress,
who sits by the window,
in the thin light of morning.
Now, please do not ask today –
for the scalpel polishes the skin.