How in the hell is your health?
Michael Medrano “Postcard to Ginsberg”
My
health! My health!
My health is dying in the accolades
Of the junky vermin who try
To save it with their degrees
In hard knocks. They stick
Their rusty-used syringes in me
And say, For your health
As the needle slides into
Its chosen vein
Blood envelopes the junk
And I sit back in my chair
And nod out for what
Could be the last time.
My health is suffocating
In the hands of deranged
Psychologists and pushed
To the back burner of
Their crack pot ovens
While they force feed
Me their medications
And make me relive
My disillusioned past.
The cries and screams
That still haunt me
Ravage my defective mind.
My health has been
Brutally raped in
Portable bathroom stalls
Night after night
Until the purgatories
Of its torso bled incessantly
All over the bits of crumpled
Toilet paper on the ground.
So how in the hell is my health?
It’s better than it’s ever been.
In fact it’s dying right over there
Between my hopes and aspirations. |