Job Sits in His Chair
Job sits in his chair of molten lead Walks on a beach of burning sand speaks words that blister the air sings a…
I’ve got a dark force swimming inside me
sort of like the Beast from the Black Lagoon
or the famous statue of Lacoön with
everyone’s limbs entangled in snakes
and its phosphor eyes and sulfur breath
are searching out the little blobs that are
trying to kill me
as it swims through all my
pipes and passages ransacking
(sadly) even some of the good Samaritans inside who just
happen to be nearby where the cowardly
dastards are dividing with no
rhyme or reason
and the dark force this time is my
new lover injected by angels in
scientific smocks and its gnashing
teeth are looking for detritus to bite
(I’ve always wanted to use that
word in a poem I pronounced
debt-tritus after my California mother’s pronunciation
but in a poem New Jersey’s Allen Ginsberg once read
he pronounced it de-try-tus so it’s
up for grabs)
slithering through every crack and opening
putting its tiny massive head where
no light shines to find the floating
crap game of cancerous cells where they
attach themselves this time at the
base of my only tongue
and smash them to smithereens
foreclosed and forgotten
dispelled in the drainage system of my
only body back into the
black sea from which they came
the both of them finally reduced to a
tiny point of light above a sloshing
brackish harbor
water lapping with low sounds by the shore
in the deep heart’s core
5/29/12 (from Down at the Deep End)
Categories: Poems, Cancer Treatment