The Operation

the surgeon japes coarsely about death
as if he were taunting an old cocotte
the patient keeps silent bottling up inside
waking up below
accepting in extremis to reenter his placenta
under bright lamps and blades
like a premature baby

his eyelids are beating from heart to heart
he’s set free among valves
looking around him
bloody defeated fighting with cut off flesh
taken out from the place where the spirit
closes up like handcuffs on a virgin’s hand

the lights are whirling and stinging under retina
in the recovery room for a long time
the same day staff replaces the night staff
it’s like a white dream with hidden thorns
the patient is still sleeping
perfusion serum drips in his blood
as if it were a silent hailstorm

he wakes up again without any thought
without looking to himself
floating like fresh egg yolk in the glair
wrapped in stamped crumpled bed sheets

he will wear the same name
shedding his old snake skin
crawling brand-new in a new world
biting deeper with his front teeth
even the moon as big as she is
doesn’t stay always in her sky
.
.

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Categories: My Poems in 2011 | Tags: , , , , , | Leave a comment

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