My blood spools,
spinning like the dizzy maker
on my childhood playground and
if I think too hard
or stare too long at this whirring machine,
literally playing with my life's blood,
I get the same motionless feeling.
And I start to slump a little to the left
to embrace that weightless feeling when
as a child I'd hold on like Superman
with my legs spindling out behind me.
And my mouth is a copper penny
as my platelets return.
Welcome home, my own red sea.
I pray I won't feel the shiver
of my vein collapsing
as the cuff's chokehold tightens on my arm.
a bit of gauze--a game I play with myself
to pretend there is no 16 gauge needle
thrust into my vein like a ball point pen,
something to squeeze,
my brain immersed in book,
and a blanket, thick to work its warmth
when the saline slams through the tube,
reverse motion washing the coagulant-rich crimson back to shore,
a glacial melt spilling in my veins.
This is a draft... this is only a draft... (that's meant to sound like those TV warning signals. tee hee. )