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Poetry Magnum Opus

Medicine


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I have bandaged the wounds

and wings of street princes

and ghetto Kings. I have

been a lighthouse warning

junkies and winos whose light

they do not see. I feel like

a pac- man being chased by old

patients and the IRS as I battle

for my soul and a joystick on

this night shift in a clinic I

see the uplift of umbilical cords

reconnecting the dying to heaven,

death seems like a bargain to

insurance companies. I could

bandage the clocks to protect

the eyes of those departing,

their faces always return to me

they always return.


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Enough blame to go around:

 

reconnecting the dying to heaven,
death seems like a bargain to

insurance companies.

 

Speaker seems confident, but not haughty.

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