Anesthesia Euthanism
by Ray Karpovage
I am the dry mouth lemon swabbed
with thick tongue. Just one sediment
piss past appendix stone.
In steep stagnetic steps-I
walk-off inkblot blood-clots
on a stapled flesh stretch.
Tripping over umbilical extension
chords with grip tape socks
and gap-tooth whistling cartoon theme songs
down the echo of this morphine drip.
Blank-minded utopia has ruptured itself
and my jumper cables are rusty.
From the drip/the hole in my lip.
The spilt sips of subliminal
backwash with their varicose spiderings.
They make me choke back formaldehyde.
Comfortably, in a reclining contusion
covered with candy-coated
catheters and cold chipping sheets.
