Poem 42 Revised

Two swallows raise my level
Syrup on a crooked nerve
Prickling anxiety of adventure
Ice water on these sweating curves
Dancing banshees all around me
Offering me poison sweets
Burning through my lips and tissue
Bears on cycles, stags and geese
Spinning walls to import migraines
Jesters toast to health, defeat
Pat the walls to know my station,
A victim of the bantering beasts
I am myself, I am myself
Bears on cycles, stags and geese
Hover now the faces pressure
Linger closer, fill my breath
Raptured shots return as bile
From the light white corpses crawl
Tend to me in calming nurture,
Offer water towels, myrrh
Bathe me in their whispered safety
While I douse myself in filth.
I am myself, I am myself
They must be sick; I can’t remember
Who they are or where I am
I am myself—am I myself?
Only echoes, no more faces
Through my eyes a palate blur
Rumbles from within my body
Burst through lips for lack of words
Speaking sharp among each other
Hospital, water, bring more—Quick!
Ignore my wailing howling hiccup
Someone says I must be sick…
They.say.it’s.fine… I’ve never seen them
The faces ever near to mine,
Those prancing shadows fade to corners
And take with them their clever ruse.
But then, the memory is gone—


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