usque ad mortem
numb
upper jaw all
surgically
removed
calm
in a blurred sea of white sheets
too vast to contain me
cancerous no more
bloody no more
within
only without
capitalising on my demise
a great man
extravagant
lifeless
exuding verse
looking for the right curtains
to match
the floor
match the ceiling and the walls
of this three-digit-daily hospital room
with no New Year's cake
the right colour
curtains to hide
the bandages
and hide the plastic surgeon's handiwork
the right ones to show
the true meaning
of the protrusions and the cavities of my skull
concave, convex
shiny bony truth
I meld myself with death
in senseless torpor
no auspicious, no dropping eye
just quiet
but I made a deal with the great Deceiver
(myself) that I must write and write and write
until the tesseract implode into a cube
the cube become a shapeless drawing of myself
I must write and write
and write
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