A Son at his Bedside, John Grey

Judith Nelson, Alabast, 1984, 16X20


A SON AT HIS BEDSIDE

 

Made-to-measure,
my vitals,
no more.
not me,
now off in space,
or here with the attention span
of Death

Oh come on,
old friend,
once I’m in this wretched bed,
pity me all you need
but stay.

Put down stakes,
listen for my shameful breath,
as little as it is.

Sovereign doctors
come by at night
to stab me,
their last subject,
kill me more
just to keep me alive.

For if I die,
their reign is over.
You’re the king
of corpses.

______________
John Grey

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