October 1, 2012
Drowning in the restraints of detachment
Suffocating in the reliance of faulty equipment
A respirator cannot circulate the air due to a tubing error…
when you choke on the forced artificiality down your throat
wake up to awareness that inside your chest are functioning lungs—
The ability to breathe on your own was never lost—
But the attachment to this failing constructed machine feeds the oxygen deprivation
And the sparks of currents flowing through the mind grow dim and slow.
Embrace the discomfort, let instinct take over, choke on the hardness shoved inside and rip it out—
Rip it out, cough up the debris and feel your first real breath—air striking the raw lining of your throat.
Jolting shocks, increased currents all disconcerting, all temporary and momentary.
Too soon this newness will pass, and purposeful action transforms into automation
Another ability taken for granted if not wise, so keep that plastic piece your lips once encased
A souvenir of what was and is not.
November 9, 2012
Despite what may on the surface show,
Underneath, is a heart–
firmly ensnared on barbs of grief and sorrow.
I am a lie.
Optimistic aloofness, detached candor—all just parts and lines
of a script on a stage where I out in the open hide.
Beneath this resilient facade is a fatal wound—
penetrating and deep.
Inflammatory response brought a flood of white hot rage filling in the gaping hole,
Then encapsulated the afflicted area with Kevlar intent—
no salvage required, only preventive isolation.
Though shielded in hi-tech, hard-core protective gear; on occasion a symptom appears—
A valve loosens
under constant pressure, a serous byproduct of the interaction between rage and injury, leaks…
But no fear—my responders are most vigilant–
Unwavering in their adherence to protocol, fully carrying out the ordered procedure.
Quarantine efforts have not been breached.
— at present.
(Though rumors fly– an impending pandemic event has an inevitable nature.)