From A Hospital Waiting Room
07/12 2021
The woman dancing to the first fall of snow,
Blue eyes, blonde hair,
An image paints its landscape
There is fever, that partly melts it
There's a treasure in the locks of her hair.
I try to convince her
That my existence brings about
Wild winds, sugar storms
There's doubt, there's the trail
Leading down the road.
It plays the notes
That I'm perpetually afraid of
They echo those Styxian drums
I sweat profusely but I haven't even started yet
Descending from the castle high above.
And as I sit alone by the table
Of youth's expected banquet
I dream of distant cigarettes,
Of Lilith, of relief
From this dream of Penelope.
The road crumbles beneath my feet,
It's made of Roman stones
Made a long, long, time ago.
A face sculpted into the pattern I see in them
That face I see when I'm alone.
As it thunders from the mount
I can't help but be a little bit excited
But most importantly I'm afraid
Of seeing the multiheaded hydra,
Once again, after defeating it.
The summer wind blows on,
And all that I have left are remnants
Of the retrospective future memory
That I archive someplace below.
I am Adam, Able & Abraham.
The earth is shaking to my hands,
It shivers, I am released
From its undulating cycle.
While I'm not special in any way
That face sings to me from the CRT in the corner of the waiting room.