1,771 Readings


Tyler, I imagine the waiting room:
you are thizzing with the softbroke gnaw
of nurses failing to remember some keystroke.
Your linoleum-rapped knuckles are bleeding.
You are tie-less, face less furnished in the monitor
glass than your bed-bugged apartment.
I imagine the nurses’ station as some sudden floodlit city
closed-circuiting the gauzed, the sutured, the aching,
the limping, the flimsy, the hopeless,
the thank-god-thank-god-at-deep-pharmaceutical-rest.
You can do nothing for them
but make their agonies paperless.
Third shift after third shift, you feel that fact
covering the soft-pressed grains of your heart
like ocean-ground plastics
coating slow generations of beach.
This is some godforsaken hour.
This is some godforsaken chair with its arms too high.
There are magazines on the end tables
about making babies, taking care of babies,
people who shouldn’t be doing either.
You are detox-white and waiting,
scraping your hangover off on the mute engineering,
ghost-riding the whip of some disused wheelchair
toward the nearest flight to leave.
I imagine you lobbed from the cab, reaching out for the hotel,
finding only hallways of suites where robber barons sleep
bloated with their secretaries, rooms clotted
with coarse-pilled shit, shredded newspaper,
some sort of hamster bottle in the corner for sucking.
It is because you are softer that you will succeed.
It is because you are softer that your rouseless snorings
will fog through every hotel wall,
will startle every robber baron to wake
defused of their hard-ons,
their deficit eyes glared as senseless as touchscreens.
They will bang and bang the shit
out of your thick, white walls,
but your kindness will sleep you soundly,
will wake you always right before your wake-up call,
will tender you just tender enough
to redefine the achings inside you.

                                 here in Wisconsin,
I am falling asleep on the couch.
I imagine you safe for the moment, newly hatched
in a starch-preened lawn of hotel linen,
a small, bellied child again, next to me on the beach blanket,
sleeping soundly through the fireworks.

Posted 05/12/11
Books by Adam Fell
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