I.Precision of Suffering
Alone on the Golgotha surgery table crossings
one more time he became like one of us;
a pale passing face printed on the veil of precision–
the signature passed his naked body to the next room
where they shaved and polished
the skull for a drill and a bone flap,
sedated him at the right level still to be awake.
He took a fifty-fifty sparse risk
and felt the right amount of pain
between beeping breaths linked to the red flashing pulse,
he stared at the little nurse’s eyes
and let resurrected memories fly wild
to be captured behind the high blood flow
and projected on the computer screen,
he flew, saw a full waiting room,
and yet no one present there;
no person nervously flipping magazine pages
one after another,
one after another,
and one more time from the beginning to the foolish end.
II. Open Brain Surgery
Last thoughts turbulent sail
followed in breaking words
caught between sleep-awake-sleep states
and burbled nails with taste on the dry mouth
he heard the last thirsty throbbing.
He saw the circle closing above;
the tunnel vertigo swallowed with the eyes
and swipes of hungry vultures
waiting for cold blood and thorny skull bones;
He longed for her–
a little nurse
with a licitar dough heart
covered with the white honey expression
and cherry red painted perfect lips
looking funny with a small mirror mounted on the top of her head.
She touched patient’s eyes with
a warbling smile, but couldn’t stomach
the last scene–
she saw his fearful flight
from the lonely hospital room window,
later, he heard chirping somewhere on the ground knowing
that she shaved her hair.
He kept cheating the computer fed photos of an actress
with and without clothes, and with and without hair and smile.
The EEG recorded the abyss of fear deepened in little nurse’s eyes
and, then it dripped so slow and warm
around future tuberous pokes
where no plant could grow;
he already knew, let them believe
he crossed the line. A few minutes later, he found himself hiding
in the song of her dying flame. She cried.
III. The Morgue’s Painter
He thought “this is the numinous end,”
and departed peaceful with a flat-line machine irritated sound.
Soon they moved the body
all wrapped in a smile of a dying flame
and the same smile stiffened
while relaxed the muscles of a full bodied darkness
in a tight, morgue’s shell.
Just when he was ready to let all go,
Knowing, nobody waiting for a funeral,
he heard someone coming.
The painter opened the shelf,
sketched details with the charcoal pencil
and studied for a long time the head-mess
and ate more from the spaghetti plate;
Next morning he still smiled
Now singing on the endless canvas
the last expression of a “Rigor Mortis” dying flame……
“I want to go with the one I love.
I do not want to calculate the cost.
I do not want to think about whether it’s good.
I do not want to know whether he loves me.
I want to go with whom I love.” Bertolt Brecht