MCS

Arising out of that sleep, out of that something more than sleep,
I cannot know if that is how it feels, like after a too long Friday night
and Saturday goes slipping by and you awake so moth dry in the mouth
and achy in your shoulders but laughing at the time you won’t have to kill

is that how you would feel, shrugging, stabbed awake by someone,
nurses maybe, jostling you and your bleeding brain, are you, are you,
and a little penlight pushes you to madness, creates the dark,
and the machine beeps let you recognize the silence in your head

where there is finally no song playing endless loop yeah, yeah, yeah,
finally you don’t catch anything syncopated in your lungs, are you, are you,
and you blink too much and your eyelids catch like spurs on your sclera
blood pressure, pulse, and the fingers are always cold. I am, I am, am I.