Hospital III

this room is so familiar
I feel it as its vagueness dries air circulating constantly
the dry air entering
this dry air exiting these lonely lungs
I need a real cigarette, I say to myself, then it will be O.K.
to be in bed all day,
to be in static wheelchairs in a constant state of discomfort.

I think it’s time for my next dose:
one more hour
just one more
until six more becomes my reality
I need it now
I need to escape these walls
just mentally
just through the now hazy window of my mind and the window––
always telling of a world still circulating its bowels out there
where there is sunlight and dying trees
where there are bodies busily bustling through crowded streets and
      dimlylit walkways
leading to the next––
the constant next––
always on the horizon, while my mind is concerned with only but two
to dream or wake.

this waking dream, nightmare, of knowing more is out there that I do
      not want,
but do I want this? the solitude? the nights amid so many pillows? the
      nurses checking in? the friends too bored to leave? and me in
      between casts unable to do much but breathe?

I believe in reality, out there, somewhere, maybe over the rainbow,
but not in here
surely, there is more to the world than the constant, vapor cigarette
      and endless Cokes!
surely, out there, is a solid grip
a fundamental foundation,
a stolid rock, unwavering,
where all the people must end up,
though sometimes they fall so far back
into their white, hospital beds.

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