“Draping my body in the usual sterile manner,
they placed me in a supine position and adequate
general anesthesia was obtained. Then a collar incision
was made at the base of my neck and the strap muscles
incised, the dissection continuing sharply over
both my lobes as inferior vessels and veins
were isolated, litigated, and divided, the cut surfaces
like a cherry blossom storm, except for a small amount
of beefy red identified at the pole. Awakening later,
I heard a voice muttering: Don’t worry about adultery
(he sleeps in a different room). Don’t go down after
midnight. Don’t take tranquillizers. Don’t love. Don’t hate.
Sometimes, the paralysis of a soul awakens it. Sometimes,
awful things have their own kind of beauty.”
I don’t know. It woke me up. And made me want to curl up at the same time. It’s such a rare thing, a poem that makes you want to live and die all at once.