Second Guessing


A superhero abandoned the job.

My spine is an erector set

stepped on and bent in the rain.

An albino cobra twisted dorsally

is continuously backbiting.

A broken zipper jams at the bottom.

Steel lodges in the spine,

a bullet from a maniacal drive by.

My back gave out.


I keep white discs in my purse,

lumbar lifesavers,

ghostly communion melting

into compressed nerves.

An overexposed MRI,

A discography, an angiogram,

an interpretation from a skilled surgeon

calls for a transverse lateral fusion.

Today I face surgery.

The coldness of OR


where masked gowned people

speak an ur-language

as a groggy mind reaches for a hand,

a steely table reflecting light,

a rhythmic aorta blipping a screen,

a buffer where blood

moves through a columnar space,

a red pen writing through veins

awakening to air screaming

in ears, negation of doubt

trapped in an reluctant body

is a slight second chance.


~ by dianeklammer on August 21, 2013.

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