Here In The Hospital, I

My Death From The Wrists, Two Name Tags, Blood Worn Like A Corsage To Bloom One On The Left And One On The Right.

My Sleeping Pill Is White. It Is A Splendid Pearl; It Floats Me Out Of Myself, My Stung Skin As Alien As A Loose Bolt Of Cloth.

I Am Crazy As Hell, But I Know It. And Knowing It Is A Kind Of Sanity That Makes The Sickness Worse.

Jewels! Today Each Twig Is Important, Each Ring, Each Infection, Each Form Is All That The Gods Must Have Meant.

I Wonder If The Artist Ever Lives His Life--he Is So Busy Recreating It.