Cheers Ken enjoy that rest area and shade P
-----Original Message-----
From: Poetryetc: poetry and poetics [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On Behalf Of Kenneth Wolman
Sent: 22 November 2014 22:18
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Tramadol
TRAMADOL
Little voice like the German kill guys
in The Big Lebowski: "Ve're gonna come back,
Lebowski, and cut your johnson off, we're
gonna really fohck you up!"
You mean there's something left
to fohck up? You mean I'm not already dead?
You mean you're not Sir Richard Topcliffe,
Elizabeth Tudor's prized priest-hunter,
traitor killer, who could spend 30 minutes
coaxing from the body some poor ordained soul
via his cockandballs? Skillful, indeed an artist,
who would demonstrate for the cheering
crowd each stage of his work,
until the victim was allowed at last to die.
So this new art of the doctor's arsenal,
my ode at last to Tramadol, to turn pain
from endlessness into a thing controllable,
take one of these every 8 hours,
don't overdo it, this stuff will really
fohck you up, make me unable to perform
like some guy in an ED commercial,
like I'm supposed anymore to care.
There's no one here to receive what I've
left behind. Surcease of pain matters
more than getting off my tired rocks,
nice as that was. My tastes have evolved,
I'm a Beatles song, not half the man
I used to be. All I dream of now is dreams,
of sleeping at my desk listening to Schubert,
dreaming not of fucking but of driving a car,
no, not into a tree, but to the next rest area.
This one is nice but I want shade trees.
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