Comatose

(I know you cannot hear me)

‘

My days are forceful, heavy like

charcoaled studies of soporific toil

Without effort I am erasing time

my vengeance that of the

cosmic gambler who has nothing

to lose

‘

You see

(and I see in your tightened face)

My breaths no longer blossom

into ripened fruit, welling up

in an oxygen mask like a clenched fist

around my nostrils.

Each fraying wisp,

manages to extracts itself

most arduously from the lung,

stray tendrils like maggot-legs

dancing to death.

‘

(In the language of diagnosis)

a lullaby that has gone on

far too long

-- too late

‘

Unhook these steely tentacles

that grapple with mortality,

their lips braced needlessly

against chance.

the guardians are hovering

over these white sheets

and they do not need to learn

how their battalions will pulse

irrevocably

into ambush;

‘

Maybe regression,

a handful of the old child’s

candy, a swallowed scattering

of last-minute happiness to

bring a frozen smile to my cavernous throat

‘

(I know you cannot hear me,

but I have been throwing out voices)

‘

No more glimmers of eternity

packed into syringes

that slam into pure lights and numbers.

now fill my vessels with silences

to still the final sprint of blood

rushing into (nothingness);

Anticipation has me whittled

into a handful of ashes

I want to cast

away

‘

(this is not a true tragedy)

replace me

with a clean slate

so I can finally repaint

my heaven