Death’s Lottery Spins Fate
Death’s lottery spins fate
Through glassy eyed celadon corridors,
Halved to separate
The obsolete from lazarists.
Wheelchair throned hospital cadaver
Slave to anesthetic delirium,
Hatching dreams stale and eggless
On this anniversary of mother’s milkless feeding.
Revelatory,
Yet too far lodged in the throat
To disengage.
Walled to charmless beige
And posterised spill of lazing moon
Ruptured sarcomas
Needle a ruby rash massacre,
Bedsheets a quilted black mass.
Morphine teeth
Sink phantasmagoric oblivion
Into starched canvas flesh,
A watery itch detour
From armouries of howling nerves.
Ammonia halls
Crowned mothball pall
Shrink back
As charity’s shattered vials
Violently perfume beastly glum.
I shall fear no snake pit exhibition,
Saith Lazarus.
6
5
0