there is no blood or keen pain
there are no stigmata pierced by the name of god
my teeth are heavy in the clench of coffee
the weight of weariness is a sandbag barricade
raised heavy on the levee of my cheekbones
my new lens prescription is Hubble without the fix
my new boarder, arthritis, wants to snap my wrist
birthday candles are getting to be a fire risk
but I'll light them, and wait for the paramedics
to rescue me from the inferno. mostly I want,
want the electric paddles to sizzle through the dark hum
dull as an amplifier cranked up without music
Let the two hundred . . . clear! shock of words
three hundred . . . clear! sputter back the pilot light
of hope
Poem 3: napowrimo 2009
