Bang, crash, grind – inside the tube,
an unrelenting rhythm,
sounds that slice my brain
and blip their nebulae across the screen;
I think I feel the piercing probe,
the fractals through what might be my brain,
if not, the universe displayed in radiance
by secret unseen frequencies.
“There,” I think impossibly, “I feel it!”
The laser cuts through sponge and skull
and leaves a trail of shiny lights across my darkest skies.
The techs chew bagels in their safe cocoon
and watch their screens
where data whips and twirls,
the cartoon catalogue
of my seventy years,
my life and love and hope and pain,
all stacking to the beat – bar-um, pah tah, cah boom, pa tah.
I could write a song to it.
Yeah, jazz, but I’d need a high hat and a brush.
A tom and bass will do for now.
One marriage, two; one child and you; three marriage, four;
open up the door, and time callumphs on by
husbands and kids make five…
“Is that what you see?” I ask inside.
“Don’t move,” they say.
“Archeologists will explain
the lies and histories within your brain.”
And so they do!
Down deep within the cerebellum tomb,
they find a tiny clue.
“An artifact,” they say,
an ancient mark once painted by a scribe
on family scrolls
or carved in stone by uncle hunters,
the stories of their kills.
“No harm,” The Docs say triumphantly.
“It’s just a birthmark.”
No tumor, cancer, or delirium
dwells within my ancient cave,
where savage mothers scrape the bloody skin
and wrapped in fur, I stare into the fire,
chewing on a femur.
And now I reach for light through timeless eyes
and walk the well-worn path beside the sea
where sunlight bleaches bones
and skulls dry silently.
