procedure

Midazolam

the formula for amazement: a rare pollen from the surplus field
where horses haven’t grazed since April’s warm orgy
left a bindweed pink disease,
unrepenting against chainlink,
nights spent foraging for a spectre to grieve over,
to watch for while it elevates and descends
like a dumb waiter serving sunlight
to jealous little bastards, birthed and trailing in umbilicals,
sleepy, glass-eyed hydras
who never listen to anything,
uninvolved in my tiny drama,
the feeling of losing my treasured afflictions,  
the mythos that fastens the concrete to dirt,
the wind to my spirit-skin,
is dulling the edges of the skyhead
against a mild amnesia,
blotting you out,
little eclipses
curing me of significance.



Fentanyl

my fingers, swelling and unwieldy,
where they used to needle at micro-sentiments,
tips of finality that would whisper
for your gentle convulsions and dilations,
can only wallop the bulges
and smother at your face,
two vast halfwits that haven’t any mind
as i haven’t mine,
and i’ve become consumable.
my swallowers
push through sheets like carpenters
tearing an empty space,
the ceilings secrete my diminishment
like an angry organ dissolving itself.
soon, no one will have
at
me.



Propofol

reduced and flattened, the world grows to simple letters
until i can’t make them speak, and i’m staring through
a massive orifice in the O and my blind spots are reproduced
until this dimension is only pinwheels of pressure, i’m re-enveloped
by wombing walls, crushing crystal powder white,
and finally, i’m rid of it!  
the meaningless sounds and their abatement,
the start of your wispy frame,
the crook in my chronology,
the pain which now will never come,
your intelligence i’ll not discern,
the irrelevance of my entirety,  
the end of the hypnosis
of living
and the beginnings of a dog’s age of infinitude;
euphoria is
sweet death.