Can you let me paint myself to sleep? Paint the sky. That is me. The blinks. Those are my moles. The mountain. Two. That, my feet. Is that who I want to be remembered as? A robust set of constellations in the night spread across two mountains? Perhaps that is all I will show […]Read More Mediocrity in All the Grandest Night Skies
If there was a chalk storm, How many would survive? If a chalk shortage arrived, What would teachers teach on? If chalk was collected from an eraser, How many pieces of chalk could be made? If I had a long new piece of chalk, I would break it in two, Share it with […]Read More Where does chalk come from?
Goat feat into goat meat. The dust sweeps while fat eats. Ruminant’s bowels, an easy forty. Towels in the bathroom. There is no water. There is no electricity. Sit for an hour and watch generosity. Sleep or steep tea in the dark. When cats bark there is no me. Go home and hate it. Go […]Read More Goat Feat, Goat Meat
I am a bouquet of firecrackers. I am a light ray one single photon. I am a comet catastrophe. I am a masterpiece. Come and catch what I’ve got. Apathy? Self-pity? I am a city with a 100 million lights per square mile, Shining on the sun’s dial. I am the slick on […]Read More Why doesn’t everyone want to be a revolutionary?
“I got chapped lips.“ Is this real? The ER. Not seen on T.V. “I got chapped lips. I can’t even sip my latte.“ Vitals normal. Oral peel. Nothing else. “I got chapped lips. It burned when eating fish and chips, yesterday.” 30 minute waiting room. 35 minute for see the doc. 20 minutes […]Read More I’ve got chapped lips
Gypsy in the southeastern corner of Oklahoma. Black hair, curls, ringlets, wet and crisp. “They steal and scam. Driveway pavement service. They take your money and run.” Gypsy family. Living in trailers. Closed doors. No wonder. Don’t eat at restaurants. Home cooked meals. Gypsy lady with black ringlet curls. Wheels her father in. His hair […]Read More Not prescribing to the nine to five
Dear old Doctor that give truckers their speed, Dear new Doctor that give mothers their weed. We need an ear. We need our doctors to listen –Not hear. Dear old Doctors that stood high in their pulpit, Spouting, pushing words like as if it were the Gita, in Sanskrit. Your days of verbal scripts […]Read More Dear old Doctors, Dear new Doctors
Practice medicine like a human, Not like a robot. Touch people like a human, Robot touch is cold. Use your eyes to look at the patient, Robot eyes look creepy. Laugh with your patient, Robot laughter is scary. Say “I don’t know” when you don’t know. Robots explode when they don’t […]Read More Practice medicine like a human (not a robot)