I happen to be
in the empty e.r. when
America falls
in dead to the world
and stinking to high heaven
of listo and paint.
The vertigo brought
on by the weather keeps
me clutching my chair
while I yell to hell
for help, but nothing happens
forever until
a woman in white
walks in with dawn’s early light.
“Oh shit, America’s
fucked up again.
What about you?” “Oh, okay.
No more bombs bursting.
Just waves of amber.
What about him?” “Almost gone.
His brain’s full of holes.
Docs’ll check him out
and admit him. He’ll dry out
Then they’ll chuck him out
on the street again.
Soon, he’ll crumble into dirt.
But, hell, we all do.”
dust 