Death (graphic)

There was this Matter
of bouncing from doc to doc for sixth months
in a state of near death
that didn't really get that bad
until I was vomiting buckets of purple blood
that had mixed with all that stomach acid
from some sort of abrasion somewhere
and my lungs, it turned out, were scarred
from some blood clot actively breaking into them
and I was scared only later
when I understood what I had survived,
some pirate scar on my neck where my second jugular was cut open
being the only evidence.

Really I could feel it in the back of my brain
I had to learn to walk again in some hospital,
all the old blood pooled in the cerebellum
and the Ecstasy of Flight From Life
still humming there with some gross machine
that was pumping yellow pus out of my surgical wound.

I figured after those experiences
that the Earth would be a fine place to live,
but I was wrong
as was proven by the sum of people
who still call to collect emotional and vengeful bills
when I want to look like I live in France
with maybe a glass of brandy,
just walking out in the field
with wildflowers up to my waist
humming softly
and thinking of the One I Love