1.

2.

3.

4.

Waiting for my care to and care and A

Sorted it out in just a minute, switched

the tv off and on by the plugged in my 

comp-utter as if I had no utterance all 

in silent utterance. 

To think that once

I was so independent now I'm like in-

Fant in a cot, I would be lost without

Homecare twenty-four I just wish there

Was a night shift helpline my bed

and t-shirt but I can smell it lingers

on your being like a lost and lonely

memory. Fading like a hollow-

gram that holds no weight.

 

The smell filled the room like

An abattoir, I was soaked for

Hours waiting for my morning

Call, care to call, and care.

Black is the color of me my

Tv comp u- piss, nothing else

It doesn’t rain but it fucking

Pours.

 

I could feel the creak in my neck

and the death rattle in my throat.

I am on a high-dose fentanyl patch

And liquid morphine and I still can't

fucking move. Two people have to

roll me.

 

I shove my boulder up the hill

to fall every 24 Deja Vu days 

on repetitive repeat. Imagine 

the myth of Sisyphus with 

a brain injury and aphasia. 

Aphantstic gives me hope to 

blog and deal with this trauma. 

Camus’ myth is so negatively 

cap-able like Nietzsche and his 

will to power or Schopenhauer's 

studies of will from a pessi-

mystical view. 

As Keats once said:

There is strength in their bleak view.

Think the right way and everything

will be sound.

I lay there in a black face mask

not even able to dream poems

like I used to. I wrote this poem

in my head, that’s my daydream

state, the mindset of the write

hemisphere my blog of life.

 

I love that line by Robert Lowell

‘yet why not say what happened