 | Two Doctors | “He was a doctor, you know,” your wife said, when I introduced myself as your doctor. These words were still foreign then – the two syllables sharp and too intimate in the hospital room, above the tubes and twisting IV lines connecting your body, disconnected from me in my starchy … | 2019-05-17 01:00:19 |
 | At the State Psychiatric Hospital | Colors steer him To a murky sea Frigid Waves –enraged monsters– Breach over black rocks. Few rhymes left. Music gone. Voice smothered. Eyes stare Crystal like. “His name is David. . . Hopeless,” I’m told. | 2019-05-17 00:55:47 |
 | Intracranial | Carissa Anne Lee Five Stages Oil Pastel Oh, fickle memory, how it deceives! A sieve to the mundane, location of the car keys, wallet, the route he took to work each day. Erases the most crucial, too, the infant’s scent beneath her dark curls tumbling from a pink barrette, Mom’s … | 2019-05-17 00:50:08 |
 | Mentoring (For Dr. WCW) | Williams brought over A bag of plums, A tree of white blossoms, A locomotive, Ghost- images of Her thread-bare ankles I’ve loved his poems ! The pages of his ‘Collected Works’ all dog-eared now, Tear-stained, Or smiling I knew that woman , Sitting at the window A child on her … | 2019-05-17 00:45:38 |
 | Recommendation | Reject the reports, the scans, the needles, the hospital windows sealed against flight, and cold tile floors, clear fluid emptying into your chest, pills lined and ready on the counter. Go. Find Buddy Guy’s breaking strings and solos, pieces of Janice’s heart, bourbon and beer tabs. Go– meet at the … | 2019-05-17 00:40:10 |
 | Circle of Life | A poem inspired by a term on the renal transplant service. Envisioning kidney transplant from the perspective of the organ going through death into reincarnation. It arrives in a styrofoam box Hand-delivered sometimes Otherwise DHL ultra-express With chequered police tape skirting the scene and the cold purgatory of semi-death cased … | 2019-05-17 00:35:43 |
 | Under the Bridge | It’s just a choice of what we want to lose The moon hangs in the cold crisp air all night To wash me and my pain in gentle light My bro’s harp wraps my soul in smoky blues Without some nurse’s orders I sip booze And smoke fine weed and … | 2019-05-17 00:30:33 |
