I lie half-crazed on a cement bed,
Temp 102. I’m on a grave, a table?
The nurses make their rounds in shoes of lead,
Rolling pcs, forms to sign, and my one med
Until the virus has a label.
I lie half-crazed on a cement bed.
I want to tell them that I feel code red
But words are coiled in my right lung, a taut cable.
The nurses make their rounds in shoes of lead.
Not like a plum but like an eggplant head
My vein is blown. I’m more unstable.
I lie half-crazed on a cement bed.
It baffles bio labs what bastard bugs have bred…
Shh! Those harsh sounds hurt my brain, and a babble
Of nurses make their rounds in shoes of lead.
I’ll think up delirious sex scenes instead
While the cultures grow, while I am still able.
I lie half-crazed on a cement bed,
The nurses make their rounds in shoes of lead.